Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis
by JulieArchery107
Summary: After the events of Sherrinford, Mycroft suffers a mental breakdown. Since there is no one there to catch him, he falls...and never resurfaces. Someone else does.
1. Chapter 1

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Prologue

"Just the family dog."

" _You locked her up like some kind of **animal**!" _

_"How could you do such a thing to your own **family**?!" _

_"You **lied** to us!" _

_"Made us believe she was **dead**!" _

_"You Heartless **bastard**!" _

_"Coldblooded **Reptile**!" _

_" **You limited Idiot Boy**_!"

Hearing his mother's condescending voice echo in his ears, Mycroft opened his blurry eyes only to discover he's no longer in his favorite seat in the Diogenes Club trying to focus on anything else but the aftermath of previous events, but on the cold floor of his Mind Palace, where all the thoughts he tried not to dwell on are free to assault him.

It seems that even his own brain agrees that no good deed should go unpunished.

Even ones it itself concluded were for the greater good.

Groaning the older Homes brother closed his eyes again, memories of his encounter with his parents flooding his ever-remembering mind.

He remembered it like it was yesterday…

The way they looked at him with pure disgust in their eyes…the way they immediately jumped to Eurus's protection, not even _thinking_ about hearing his side of the story…

The way they seemed to both degrade and disown him with _no_ hesitation…

 _"Sherlock was always the grown up."_

Was what Mummy Holmes said, but Mycroft also heard the part that was left silent but no less insulting.

" _And you were never good enough. What in the devil made you think you ever will be?_ "

A lump grew in his throat and his heart began to hurt.

He tried to tell himself that he was ready for this, that he expected this reaction ever since Uncle Rudi trusted him with his secret, that taking all the blame and hate was _always_ part of the plan.

The 'Ice-man' façade was created and perfected throughout the ages in wait for this very moment.

So that, when they finally learn of his treachery, he'll be able to take their hate no matter how much they threw at him and still look as if they were discussing the weather, even if on the inside he was tearing apart.

He made himself think that the knowledge of everyone else being safe will be worth every harsh glare, every cutting insult…

He lived so long with Sherlock and his gang hating his very existence, only contacting him when absolutely necessary and otherwise treating him like dirt, adapting to his parents not wishing to see him anymore shouldn't be a problem.

His family is safe, that's _all_ that matters.

But…

Those are lies, aren't they?

He _wasn't_ ready for all this, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he was.

He _never_ expected that, after _everything_ he did: making sure his little brother was never in harm's way for all these years, taking on the responsibility that _they_ should have barred from an early age, and generally being the reliable son, they'd just disregard _all_ of that at the drop of the hat the moment they heard of what he did to Eurus.

The Ice-man is just that, a _façade_. It might work when he's dealing with presidents, queens and other foreign officials but...it always melts away when his family is involved, proving itself to be completely useless when he needs it most. 

He _wishes_ he was strong enough to be the monster of the family that's never acknowledged for anything _but_ the mistakes he's made, but he _wasn't_ …

Mycroft may have fooled everyone else, but he never could quite fool _himself_.

And his heart could barely stand the thought of his little brother despising him, adding the rest of his family to the list would do nothing short of destroying it…

The elder Holmes's face constricted in pain along with the organ that betrayed him most.

What he did was very hurtful and he knew that, he also knew that their anger is very much justified and that he deserved every bit of it…

What he _didn't_ understand however was their complete _lack_ of will to so much as _listen_ to him.

Did they really think he would lock his sibling up in a mental hospital without a solid reason?

Where did all that mistrust come from?

What did he do to deserve it?

He doesn't…doesn't understand…

…

...

...Perhaps he really _was_ limited?

Without even realizing it Mycroft Homes curled into a ball, hugging his knees like a child does after a nightmare, something he hasn't done in literal _decades_.

He was always too old for that…even when he was _seven_ …

Good Big brothers don't cry, don't get scared…don't get overwhelmed by responsibilities…

...don't lock their mentally unstable little sisters in prisons when nothing else worked…

Good big brothers don't do those thigs…

…yet he _did_.

And would probably do so _again_ if he had to.

Because _someone_ has to make the hard choices.

And there is _literally_ no-one else.

His parents are incapable of doing so to their own child...

Sherlock can barely take care of himself...

And Uncle Rudi is _dead_.

" _Look at you, the most powerful man in Britain, laying on the floor like a kicked dog_." A voice somewhere above the elder Holmes sighted, breaking him out of his ponderings. _"Then again, perhaps you **are** one, considering that **absurd**_ _amount of **underserved** loyalty you show towards your **masters**. No matter how much they abuse you, you **always** come back for more." _The owner of the voice snorted in obvious disgust. _"How **disgustingly** sentimental." _

Mycroft closed his eyes and swore quite ferociously under his breath.

"Why," He started, teeth gritted and eyes closed in silent frustration. "out of _everyone_ who took residence in this palace…Why is it _always_ **_you_**?"

The man in question shared a disturbing similarity to him, dare he say that he could have passed as a long-lost twin.

He was tall, dressed in an impeccable dark-blue suit, had short auburn colored curls and had the same ice-cold pale-blue eyes Mycroft himself had.

But that's where the similarities ended.

For the man looked like a corpse taken freshly out of the freezer. His clothes and hair covered in a layer of frost, eyes cold and lacking the healthy glow they usually have, his skin white and looking chilling to the touch, his chest sporting a large black hole where his heart should have been.

He was the person who everyone saw Mycroft Holmes as…who he was _unable_ to be.

The dead man that walks.

The Iceman.

Said man with skin colder than the harshest winter and wind, smiled a mirthless smile before replying.

" _Why…because you **want** it to be me, my dear Boy." _He then spread his arms as if to show off the space around him. " _This is **your** Palace, Mycroft. I wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to." _

"That is _precisely_ my point." Sherlock's older brother sneered from the ground. "I _don't_ want you here, and yet you _still_ grace me with your presence."

The fragment of imagination had the nerve to shrug.

" _It is of no consequence, I'm afraid, as my presence seems to be needed._ " It smiled again, this time showing off pearly-white teeth. " _Why do you think I'm still here?_ "

"Because, like my brother, you have made a habit of ignoring everything I say." Mycroft replied irritated, pushing himself to a kneeing position.

" _Once you stop thinking about things that don't deserve your attention, you will discover that, **you** are the one that continually refused to listen, Mycroft_." The icy tone turned from condescending to serious. " _I warned you this would happen._ "

"What you proposed couldn't be done." Sherlock's brother whispered, shaking his fox-colored head.

" _Yet had you heeded my warning and did as you were told, all this and more could have been avoided._ " The Iceman said, his tone knowing as he twirled his frost covered brolly.

"It would never work." Mycroft's voice was barely a whisper. "You know this. We tried countless times. It never lasted."

Suddenly he was forced to his back by a sharp tip of an umbrella pressing on his Adams apple with alarming strength, nearly chocking him.

" _People **died** and were mentally **scarred** for **life** because **you** were a sentimental **fool** that couldn't put his feelings aside when the situation called for it!_" The Iceman didn't scream, yet his voice was harsh enough to have a similar effect. _"And yet, even now, after everything that happened, you **still** refuse to listen to your own advice."_

"I don't have the luxury to do so." Mycroft whispered, ignoring the blade pressed to his neck. "I have to keep them safe…"

" _And look where your devotion has led you._ " The Iceman sneered. _"Treated like a dispensable **dog** by those you devoted your life to." _

"They don't treat me like a-" Mycroft started to argue but the metal tip of the umbrella pressed down on his vocal cord, preventing any sounds from escaping.

 _"No?"_ The colder man asked, his voice icy and devoid of any emotion. " _Then tell me if anything I say sounds familiar_."

Even if he wanted to, Mycroft couldn't answer, the damned thing still was pressing on his throat.

" _Only called upon when needed, tasked with the safety of the younger children, kept at arm's length at all times, ignored when tasks are preformed correctly and punished **severely** when not._"

Mycroft remained quiet, each word stabbing a knife into his already bruised heart.

" _Correct me if I'm wrong but all this sounds **surprisingly** a lot like your present predicament_." The Iceman continued, he then lifted the umbrella off of the other man's exposed neck. " _Especially the last point._ "

"They were right to be angry with me." Mycroft whispered as if his throat was blocked by something, his back still pressed to the cold floor. His pale-blue eyes stared emptily at nothing. "I took their child away and locked her up away from sociality."

The Iceman stepped into his field of vision and crouched so that the beaten man's attention was on him.

" _You were a **child** taking on responsibilities that would be hard to bear by people **triple** your age, so that the people you cared about didn't have to watch their child get sent to hell. Even once that happened, you didn't give up on her. You did **everything you could** to help Eurus, getting her to the best therapy centers money could find, but, in the end, she proved herself unstable and deadly so you could do **nothing** but lock her away so that she doesn't hurt anyone else._" A hand that was supposed to be sympathetic but really wasn't because of obvious reasons, was placed on his shoulder. " _You did your best, there was **nothing** else you could have done_."

"My best wasn't enough." Mycroft wheezed out, heart hurting more with each beat it took. "It's _never_ enough."

The Iceman's eyes darkened again, he squeezed the shoulder he was holding.

" _You shouldn't have been condemned for it, not after everything you've sacrificed_." He said, voice softer in tone. " _Real families don't throw their members away when they make a mistake, they stick together and fight the problems in unison with each other_."

"They're doing that now, aren't they?" Came the weak response. "Finding a way to bring Eurus back… together…as a family." Mycroft swallowed the lump that threatened to choke him, the pain in his chest growing. "Without me…"

This time the Iceman stayed silent, having nothing to say.

"Mummy and Daddy have Sherlock to rely on now…" The Shadow behind the United Kingdom continued, eyes bright as if finally freed of a fog that blocked their view. "They don't _need_ me anymore, except to gain access to Sherrinford…" He then covered his face with his hands, his body shaking with unreleased sobs and the normally steady voice breaking. " _God_ …you're right… _why_ are you _always_ right?"

" _Because **my** eyes aren't clouded by sentiment, like yours are_." The man covered in frost stated coolly, watching with expressionless eyes as the man before him sobbed quietly into his hands, his heart literally leaking blood onto the suit.

This was too much…Everything…Sherlock's overdoses, Mary's death, Magnussen, Sherrinford…the overbearing guilt, the _excruciating_ pain, the sheer _shame_ …it all piled up and hit him like a tsunami wave, leaving nothing but anguish behind.

He couldn't take this anymore.

So he did something he hadn't done since he was a toddler.

He cried.

After he saw the man on the floor cry his soul out for a good minute, the fragmentation though enough was enough, and reached out his right hand, gently touching Mycroft's chest just over the bleeding organ.

A soft hitch in breath could be heard, along with a small flinch, from the injured man, as the heart began to freeze under his icy touch, and when the Iceman looked towards Mycroft's face he noticed that it wasn't covered by his hands anymore. Instead it stared at nothing, eyes cloudy and tear stains marking his cheeks and eyelids.

" _Mycroft_ " He spoke softly, fully aware that his touch is effectively dulling said man's thinking process. " _What you're going through right now is nothing sort of unpleasant, and the knowledge that it is wholly underserved, must be like adding salt to the blistering wounds._ " The Iceman paused. " _We've done this before and you know that simply freezing your heart isn't going to work, as seeing your family again will only melt the ice away._ " He took a deep breath before continuing. " _That is why I have a different proposal. One that will require **far** more drastic methods than simply cutting off emotions._" He then locked his icy-cold eyes with fox-haired man's foggy ones. " _However, in order for me to proceed, I need your full permission._ "

But Mycroft was too far gone to thing straight right now.

He just wanted the pain to end.

"P-Please…" He wheezed out. "Make it…stop."

Hearing this the Iceman nodded.

" _As you wish_."

He then pushed his hand inside Mycroft's chest completely ignoring fabric flesh and bones, making the laying man gasp, his freezing touch making quick work of the warm pulsing organ, swiftly turning it into a small block of ice.

In normal circumstances, this is where the procedure would end.

But this time…it was only the first phase.

Feeling the heart solidify under his fingertips, the Iceman narrowed his eyes in determination before letting his hand grab it like a ball and then…

 _Smashed it to bits_.

Mycroft's eyes unfocused and became even foggier, while his body shook, this time from the inside cold the heart left behind.

Satisfied, the Iceman pulled his hand out and watched as a black hole not dissimilar to his own formed on the left side of the elder Holmes's broad chest.

Phase two complete. Now for phase three.

This time the icy fragmentation of Mycroft's psyche stood up, leaving the barely conscious Mycroft to rest, and made his way towards the various rooms in the Palace.

Reaching the one he was looking for he opened the large, rusty door.

Inside a baby Mycroft Holmes was being hugged by his mother and cooed at by his father.

It was the day he was born.

Back when everything was simpler and his parents actually loved him.

" _You were never part of this family._ " The Iceman said sternly, waving his hand. " _Your real parents were killed in a car crash when you were coming home for the first time._ " Reacting to the man's voice, the room started changing. " _You were found by a doctor from an ambulance that came to treat the wounded in the accident and promptly taken to a hospital_."

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were no longer in the room, instead a young doctor was trying to calm down the terrified baby Mycroft, admits a horrifying looking car crash, who was covered in cuts and bruises but was otherwise unharmed.

" _After a few days, when no relatives arrived to collect you, you were sent to the nearest orphanage, where the caretakers found a nametag on your wrist and called you Mycroft, to honor your parent's wish. The surname Holmes was a wordplay on the word 'home' by one of the nurses working part-time in the orphanage._ "

Again the scene changed, this time the tiny Mycroft was being surrounded by concerned looking nurses, some worrying over his injuries while others scattered to prepare a fresh bottle of milk and a pair of new clothes for him.

The Iceman nodded, accepting what he saw and moving on to add the final touches.

The rest of Mycroft's memories will adjust themselves accordingly during the night, he just needs to feed the palace details.

" _You stayed in that orphanage till your eighteenth birthday, after which you were recruited to MI6 where you quickly climbed in ranks and became the man known as 'Antarctica'_."

Seeing everything fall into place, he turned to the now sleeping Mycroft Holmes and whispered before disappearing.

" _No more weaknesses_."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 1

"There is something missing from those eyes."

Anthea could tell something wasn't right.

The desk before her was unoccupied and the phone in her hand had no new messages.

Mycroft 'Iceman' Holmes hasn't missed a day worth working since he was recruited to MI6 at the age of eighteen, not even when he was shot and half delirious from the infection.

It just wasn't in his nature as a workaholic.

So there was no reason to believe he'd just decided to surprise everyone and take a day off to cope with the recent circumstances, no matter how much he actually needs it.

Remembering what her boss told her to do if he ever went MIA, Anthea quickly took out her phone and started tracking Mycroft's phone signal. Breathing out a quiet sigh of relief when it showed up in the Diogenes Club a second later, she alerted Mycroft's most trusted driver, Sebastian, to meet her outside the office and they both promptly rushed over to the silent club.

Both of them were more than just a little angry at themselves for leaving him alone after everything that occurred on that cursed island.

They should have known this would happen.

Mycroft may prefer to be looked upon as an unfeeling robot but, the sole fact that he was doing everything he could to seem that way, presented a _completely_ different picture.

He shouldn't have been left alone last night.

Not with Sherrinford still fresh in his mind…

Not with everyone washing their hands of what Eurus did, perfectly comfortable with letting him take all the blame.

Not with this amount of open wounds...

There was only so much a man can take before the carefully crafted wall starts to crack, and the downward spiral begun.

 _Something is wrong_.

Echoed though Anthea's head when they ran through the corridors, and ignored the disapproving glares of other members.

 _Something is wrong._

Her thoughts whispered as Sebastian forced his way into the room with a solid kick, when Mycroft didn't answer their frantic calls.

 _Something is wrong._

Was all she could think when they finally entered the room and saw their, normally so composed and steady as a mountain, boss laying passed out on the armchair and surrounded by empty wine bottles.

 _Something is wrong_.

Anthea thought when she saw how broken he looked. His cheeks stained with dry tears, his posture slumped and defeated…

His right hand still clinching to the empty wine glass…

 _Something is wrong._

Her head screamed, when the elder Holmes finally opened his eyes…

And it felt like looking into a black hole.

 _Something is so very very wrong…_

Anthea couldn't help but suppress a shiver going down her spine, when she asked Mycroft if he was alright…

And he just looked at her with hollow eyes and an empty smile.

" _Never better_."

* * *

Lady Smallwood was heading for a meeting with the Prime Minister when she noticed that lights were on in Mycroft's room, something that quite frankly caught her off guard as he was granted a weekly leave by the Queen herself.

She sighed heavily.

While Mycroft Holmes isn't a man that regularly disobeys orders given to him by the person he pledged his loyalty to, nothing short of a coma can keep that stubborn mule of a man away from his desk.

He's far too concerned with appearing strong, untouchable and in control.

Anything less would put a serious dent in his Iceman reputation, for an iceberg doesn't fall because of a few hits from the pick-axe.

Its surface may bear marks left by the tool but it will still stand tall, no matter the abuse.

Mycroft spent a large part of his life convincing everyone around him he was said iceberg.

And, though she knew reality was quite the contrary, she was willing to play along in wake of recent events.

If only to keep him from falling into the waiting darkness of despair, he seems to be hanging over at all times.

Because…if he fell…

There wouldn't be much she, or anyone, could do to bring him back.

As the person who _could,_ turned his back on him a long time ago.

Perishing the thought of the younger Holmes brother from her mind, before she starts cursing the bloody fool under her breath, the Lady codenamed 'Love' entered 'Antarctica's' office without knocking.

"I see you are feeling better." She said, closing the door behind her.

Mycroft looked up from the papers in his hands with a raised eyebrow, obviously not surprised by her unsuspected visit, as she tended to do that quite often, but rather by what she said.

"I am well, yes." He agreed, slowly nodding his proud auburn head. "Why?"

"I was under the impression that you were given leave."

"Unnecessary." Came the flat response, as his sharp gaze fell back on the paper he was scanning before she entered the office. "I am fine."

"The queen seems to disagree." Lady Smallwood countered. "And frankly, so do I."

"There is nothing for me to recover from." Mycroft's interest in the conversation was wavering along with his patience for it. "I was not harmed."

"You haven't sustained any physical injuries, true." She agreed with a nod of the head. "But those are not the ones everyone is worried about, Mycroft." The fair Lady didn't have to clarify, she had no doubt Mycroft knew what she was talking about. It was one of the many perks of working with a natural genius. "Nobody would think any less of you for taking a break after everything that happened in Sherrinford." She assured, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

The fox-haired man nodded but it was a notion so mechanical and unconscious, she began to wonder if her words were even heard.

He remained motionless for a while seemingly lost in thought, eyes focused on something only they could see and his brow furrowing, before shaking his head and gracing her with his full attention.

"Ah yes…Sherrinford Island." His sharp icy-blue eyes bared into her soul and she couldn't help but feel that there was something missing from them. "How was it handled after my…departure?"

 _Of course he'd focus on that bloody Island._ Lady Smallwood nearly rolled her eyes at the blunt disregard of everything else she said, but answered his question regardless.

"Eurus is back in her cell." She said. "Constantly monitored and separated from all human contact as per instructed."

After a minute of silence, his emotionless voice could be heard again.

"This won't do."

Lady Smallwood blinked, taken off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"The solution." He specifies, eyes closed. "I was informed that the charge already made a mockery of it once." Not waiting for his colleague to answer he continues. "It is pointless locking up an animal in a cage it already escaped from."

She could only stare at him now.

Never during her entire carrier had she heard him talk about anyone this way, family members especially.

"Mycroft what are you…"

"A mind this supposedly dangerous will never be fully neutralized, unless destroyed in its entirety." He answered, voice so cold and indifferent it makes his companion sick.

"Are you suggesting-?" She's almost too afraid to ask.

He nods, eyes still closed.

"But she's your sister." Lady Smallwood manages to wheeze out.

Mycroft the looks her in the eyes, and she's taken aback by how much it feels like staring into the glass eyes of a doll.

"Why would that _matter_?"

At that moment she finally figured out what was so different about her old friend.

The love he had for his family…

It was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 2

"Final Solution."

* * *

Warning: The author of this fic does not like Eurus. Fans of this character are advised to proceed with caution as she will not be treated kindly in the following chapters. You have been warned.

* * *

She knew it was him even before the door opened.

He always came to check up on her whenever he could, that older brother of hers.

The Iceman mask firmly in place, eyes cold and impassive.

But she could always look through it, could see what he was trying so _desperately_ to hide.

The enormous guilt…

The overwhelming sense of responsibility…

And the crushing feeling of having failed his entire family.

 _She_ saw it.

Despite the walls he built…she saw it _all_.

And was willing to use it against him, even turning it into a little game of making the infamous IceMan _melt_ right before her very eyes. Because despite all that power he wields… all that intelligence his mind contains, he's still just a small boy who failed to protect his little sister from her own toxic mind.

A failure Eurus will _never_ forgive him for.

' _He did his best_.' Was a phrase her little brother often communicated to her through their little violin concerts, whenever he visited.

' _No_.' Eurus would respond, using high pitched notes to show her displeasure and anger. ' _Because if Mycroft really **was** as smart and clever as everyone believes he is, he would have been able to fix **this**. Fix **me**_.'

Her beloved little brother always stopped playing after that, leaving her alone and giving her another reason to detest her older sibling, as the mention of him is driving the one person she loves most away from her.

The same sibling that was here now. The Homes family's biggest failure sitting in an armchair on the other side of her glass, dressed in his typical three piece suit and holding on to his iconic black umbrella.

Their similar pale blue eyes met and Eurus resisted the urge to smile.

It is time for their little game.

How foolish of him to visit her so soon, his mental defenses weaker than ever, thinking that he'll be strong enough to withstand her emotional manipulation.

A perfectly emotional response of a man trying to prove to himself that he's not affected by his family turning its back on him, or by other people viewing him as a heartless monster.

' _Poor, poor Mycroft._ ' She though, not a sight of sympathy on her pale face. ' _All alone against the bloodthirsty vultures._ '

The Mycroft she knew would _never_ make such a reckless decision. Especially when he knew his self-control is wavering, and the chance of him getting compromised by her poisonous mind is higher than ever.

Too many lives were at stake…too much responsibility rested on his shoulders, for him to allow himself to become so vulnerable.

And yet here he was…

Sitting in one room with a psychotic killer, completely defenseless…

The perfect equivalent of a deer bearing its neck for the wolf to bite.

 ** _Why?_**

Eurus's blue eyes sparkled in sudden understanding, her brilliant mind piecing the puzzles together.

' _They seem to have already broken you enough…_ ' Eurus thought, watching a red eyebrow rise slightly.

 _'…allow me to make the final **push**.' _

Her brother continued to watch her, unmoved by anything he must be reading from her emotionless face.

Determinated to crack that mask, Eurus tilted her head at the red-haired man.

' _Are you ready to play, big brother?_ ' Her eyes seemed to ask.

Mycroft's eyes simply blinked, looking just as interested as he always did before the game began.

Eurus actually smiled.

' _Round one_.' She thought, before starting her performance.

The trapped woman began looking around her cage, eyes wide in fear and lip trembling with silent sobs. Doing everything she could to look like the little girl he and uncle Rudy banished to this island all those years ago.

This usually made Mycroft flinch. His mind quickly thinking back to the day he first saw her, his beloved little sister, behind this glass wall looking scared and alone, trying to convince his doubting heart that this really was the best option.

It didn't work this time.

Her older brother's face stayed the emotionless mask, eyes blinking blankly at her.

Eurus's eyes slightly narrowed but showed no other sign that something out of place was happening.

' _Round one goes to you, big brother._ ' She nodded her head delicately in acknowledgment of Mycroft's small victory.

Without waiting for him to react, the woman went on to the next phase of her game.

She began to tremble and quietly sob. Her broken voice, though muffled out by the thick glass, was calling out for mommy and daddy. Eurus cried crocodile tears, begging for her big brother to take her home, and promising that she'll be good from now on if only Mycroft takes her back.

Any other day this would crack the mask.

Her brother's eyes would flash with dozens of emotions and, after a while, he would look away. Trying to save what little dignity he had left, and not wanting her to see him so weak.

Not today.

Today he had no such reaction.

He simply watched her with blank, emotionless blue eyes, as if not fully registering anything happening before him.

This time Eurus frowned.

Something was not right about Mycroft.

He wasn't just _not_ reacting like he was supposed to…

He wasn't reacting at _all_.

After coming closer to the glass barrier between them, she raised a hand and started knocking out a message in the Morse code.

'Brother?'

Once she finished, Eurus watched her older brother's face, trying to spot any kind of reaction from him.

Her efforts were rewarded with an icy glare and a narrowing of fox-colored eyebrows, before his slim fingers knocked back an answer in the wooden armrest.

It was a short message.

One that would normally _not_ be able to invoke such strong feelings of dread and panic in Eurus Holmes.

But this time it did, and by the time Mycroft left the room, she was already screaming.

All the message said…

…was 'No.'


	4. Chapter 4

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 3

"Angel of darkness."

"What's the emergency? Is it Eurus? Is she alright?"

 _Well, isn't **this** amusing… _Lady Smallwood thought to herself, as she watched the younger Holmes brother rush into her office no more than ten minutes after she requested his presence. _Sherlock Holmes showing more care and compassion to a person who nearly killed both his best friend and his older brother, than to the one man who would gladly sacrifice his own life to keep him safe and happy._

If she wasn't so worried about her friend's dramatic change of behavior, she wouldn't allow the ungrateful little (forgive her French) _shit_ anywhere _near_ her office, even if something actually _did_ happen to Eurus.

After everything he put his older through, he deserved nothing more than a hard slap in the cheekbones.

But something horrible is happening to Mycroft…

And it was getting _worse,_ if his latest meeting with Eurus was anything to go by.

She shuddered, what she saw on the video footage still fresh in her mind.

Dear God… she _never_ saw the Holmes sister looking this terrified of _anyone_ or any _thing_ before.

She always just cocked her head at their attempts at interrogation, never feeling threatened because she knew her older brother would step in and put a stop to it if they went too far.

That wasn't the case here.

Eurus Holmes erupted with screams of sheer panic the moment Mycroft's fingers stopped moving, while she pressed her back against the white walls like an animal cornered by a predator.

A look of such pure terror on her usually impassive face that, were the situation anywhere near the norm, seeing it would make the eldest Holmes empty a few bottles of the strongest drink the Diogenes has to offer, to try and numb the feeling of his heart being ripped apart.

He'd lock himself in the Stranger's Room for days.

Trying to drown the feelings that made him who he was: an amazing man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, while also trying to be a decent brother to two very nasty younger siblings, and a son to parents whose eyes remained permanently fixated on their younger children…

And become who everyone thinks he is: a vile, uncaring _monster_ that uses cruel manipulation to get what it wants.

He was losing himself.

He has been for _years_.

With him always being the head of the family and everyone relying on him to know what to do whenever there was a problem, there was _no one_ for him to turn to.

He took on everything on his own, and never asked for help.

Always alone, in fear of appearing weak to those who only waited for him to show weakness.

It worked for most of his life, but right now… he's close to breaking.

He needs help.

Help that he's _not_ going to ask for.

She just hopes it isn't too late…

Her mind snapped back to reality when the younger Holmes brother slammed his palms on her desk, desperate to catch her attention.

The Lady blistered at the loud noise and then responded with fixing the curly-haired bastard with the coldest glare she could muster.

Had it been any other day she'd have him thrown out for threatening a government official, convincing herself she'd be able to placate Mycroft by appealing to his sweet tooth once he was informed of her treatment of his brother. Today however, she will force herself to withstand his company for the benefit of the country.

Even though he's nothing but a parasite in her eyes, the damned brat held a special place in Mycroft's heart.

If anything can snap her colleague out of this uncharacteristic behavior, it would be Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes… and no." She answered ambiguously, having no intentions of making this any easier for him.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" The detective demanded, looking more irritated by the second.

"That your sister is not the main concern here." He looks puzzled at that, like there is only _one_ sibling to worry about, the confused look on his face making her hate him even more.

 _You don't deserve a brother like him._ Alicia Smallwood seethes in the privacy of her thoughts, her face remaining impassive as ever. _He's the reason you're alive, you bastard!_

"What? But I thought-"

"When was the last time you spoke to your brother?" She cut him off harshly, sitting back in her chair and folding her hands on her stomach.

The only Consulting Detective in the world blinked a few times, caught off guard.

"What does that have to do with anyth-"

"Answer the _question_!" At that moment she lost her temper, leaning over her desk, eyes flashing with anger, voice forceful and icy.

"…" Sherlock is once again stunned for a few seconds before answering wearily. "… a couple of weeks ago, why?"

"Did he act… differently, when you spoke with him?" Alicia asked moving away from his personal space, calmer now.

"Based on how we usually talk to each other? No, not really." Sherlock's face twisted into a frown, as if the mere thought of his brother left a sour taste in his mouth.

Nodding her head in response Lady Smallwood looks away, a thoughtful expression appearing on her face.

"It must have happened yesterday then…" She muttered to herself, forgetting for a short while that she had an audience.

"I have an _uncanny_ difficulty in following you, _what_ must have happened yesterday?" Sherlock was annoyed now, clearly frustrated with not being able to follow her line of thought like he can do with every other person on earth.

"The change… in your brother." She spoke softly.

"What are you talking about?!" He threw his arms up in sheer frustration. " _What_ change?!"

"He became… colder and… disinterested." Alicia answered, her hands going up her forearms instinctively as she said that. "As if… as if he didn't care anymore…"

Sherlock snorted at this, waving his hand dismissively.

"Don't tell me you still fall for his Ice Man façade, Lady Smallwood." He stated, eyes shining with disappointment. "Surely, after all those years of you two working together, you would realize he's only putting up a show?"

She sighed.

"The thing is, Mr. Holmes…" she turned the laptop on her desk towards the curly haired man, and started the footage of Mycroft's visit to Sherrinford.

She watched his eyes widen and his face get paler than it already was, when the woman stated screaming.

"… I don't think he's pretending anymore."

* * *

AN: I'm sorry if Lady Smallwood comes out a bit too harsh in this one. She's just both really pissed about the way Sherlock has been treating his brother, and scared out of her wits of the metamorphosis Mycroft seemed to have gone through.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 5

"Hey brother..."

For the first few minutes Sherlock watched the interaction between his two siblings in silence. Noticing how utterly still and unmoved by anything his brother looked, despite Eurus reopening and rubbing salt into old wounds that healed years ago.

The more he looked at Mycroft, the more he had to remind himself that the elder Holmes was human.

If he didn't focus on the rise and fall of the elder Holmes's chest, he would have mistaken him for a statue.

When the Morse code messages were exchanged…

The detective's heart stopped.

Mycroft stood up, Eurus began screaming…

Sherlock's Mind-Palace started to crumble into pieces around him.

"This," Lady Smallwood's voice pulled the curly-haired man out of the impending destruction happening in his head. "is why I called you here, Sherlock." The elder woman looked deep into the younger Holmes's eyes, worry for a dear friend shining brightly in her own. "This confrontation happened over an hour ago, but the visible change in your brother's behavior started long before his chat with Eurus."

The world's only consulting detective nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Before…before he left for Sherrinford we…had a conversation about your sister's situation now that she proved herself capable of bypassing the island's security."

Sherlock's throat went dry.

He knew what that meant.

He just never thought he'd see the day Mycroft would allow it to happen.

A real death in the Holmes family.

No more smokescreens…no more games…

"Sherlock…Sherlock I don't think I'll be able to override his decision, if it's ever made final." Lady Smallwood spoke up, trying to snap the younger man from his trance.

Before the second Holmes has the chance to reply…

The door opened…and in came Mycroft himself.

"Lady Smallwood I need you to-" The ginger man cut himself off when he noticed the lady had company. "Ah…apologies. I wasn't aware you had company." He began backpedaling towards the door. "Perhaps I shall return later-"

But before Mycroft can disappear Sherlock bolted from his seat, and rounded on him.

"Mycroft Magnus Holmes!" He bellows, face red in anger.

The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow at that, his face blank, and doesn't say anything.

Despite the complete silence, it was clear he doesn't like what he sees, the cold aura gathering around him convey his feelings on the situation so well, words are not needed.

Sherlock, as usual, ignores this completely, opting to instead to yell right to the taller man's face.

"Have you lost your mind?!" His voice is so loud it goes up a few octaves. "What is all this talk about 'handling Eurus'?! How can you even think of doing something like this to her, she's your _sister_!"

He hoped to make Mycroft fell guilty, or at least explain himself.

But he just…stood there.

Watching the detective with eyes so emotionless and icy, Sherlock has to double-check if this is really his brother he's talking to and not an ice statute that just came to life.

It isn't long before the younger Holmes begins to shiver under the older one's cold stare, his earlier anger and bravado rapidly disappearing, the air around them starting to feel as if someone left the freezer open.

After a long minute of nothing but the adrenaline-filled beats of Sherlock's heart, filling the air…

Mycroft finally spoke up.

"So…" The single word came out sounding low and calculated, like it was spoken by an unfeeling robot and _not_ an overprotective older brother that would give his very life if it meant saving his family. " _This_ is the infamous Sherlock Holmes." The younger man watched with increasing alarm, as the familiar eyes gazed at him as if this was the very first time they ever met in person. "The rumors about you aren't wrong," His eyes narrowed, stare cold enough to freeze lava. "you really _are_ causing more headaches than you're worth."

The minute those words leave Mycroft's mouth the younger man blisters back, looking as if he was slapped.

Mycroft may have called him 'foolish' during their many feuds…

He may have slipped in the occasional 'ungrateful brat' when he was _really_ angry…

But Mycroft never, _ever_ , called him 'worthless'.

Even Lady Smallwood shrinks in her seat, both bewildered and afraid.

"W-What?" Words barely make their way through the detective's mouth, as his throat feels as if it has a noose tightening around it with every breath he takes.

"I understand your sister's predicament may seem alarming to you," The older man stated, each word carefully chosen, as if this was a chess match and not a conversation between siblings. "But I'm afraid you have _no_ say in the matter." He didn't sound regretful, nor did it look like it tears him up to say it. It was like talking to a computer program on legs, than a human. "and _neither_ do your parents."

"What…?" Sherlock echoes himself, sounding as if air was literally punched out of his lungs.

"It is to my understanding that, in the official records, she was pronounced dead a very long time ago. Something that is sadly not true, as proven by events taking place during the past few weeks." He pulled out the pocket watch he always carried over his heart, and gazed at its high class appearance. "I have simply decided to…remedy that."

Somehow, though even he doesn't exactly know how, the curly-haired man managed to swallow open his throat enough to speak.

"So…this is it?" He rasped out, voice strained. "You're just going to sign the papers and just…let it happen?!" Sherlock demanded recovering his earlier vigor.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow in a way that would normally suggest faint amusement at the idiocy unfolding before him. And when the usual playful spark in the ice-blue eyes is instead replaced with cold indifference, Sherlock's heart sunk just a little bit lower than it already was.

"Isn't that what she deserves?" He asks in that same monotone, almost-dead voice. "She's hardly been the model citizen since she broke free from her little cage."

"She's _family_!" The detective could barely believe he was having this conversation. His mind could not wrap around the fact that he had to argue about the value of familial loyalties with _Mycroft_ , the most _loyal to a fault_ person he had the fortune to meet.

"What she is, is a _criminal_." The elder Holmes doesn't yell out his answer like Sherlock did, he didn't have to. His voice took such a low and dominating tone, everyone around him was forced to listen. "She committed mind manipulation, high property damage, and murdered _innocent people_. Yet _you_ , the man who sent similar cases to prison with his own hands, are trying to defend her." His eyes narrowed again. "Tell me, Mr. Holmes…would you have me spare the life of your old nemesis, Jim Moriarty, simply because he happened to provide you with interesting cases?"

Sherlock found enough strength to growl.

"He has _nothing_ to do with this!" He yells out. "He wasn't a _family member!_ "

"Ah but he has _everything_ to do with this, Mr. Holmes." Mycroft's smile was mirthless, and empty. "After all, wasn't he simply an _extension of your sister's conscious_? A way for her to interact with the outside world without actually being in it? His plans to engage you in that _pointless game of 'Cat and Mouse'_ we're all implanted into him during their five-minute meeting, so I don't see why one shouldn't view them as simply a _puppet and his puppeteer_ …" He snorted at the stubborn silence that could be heard on Sherlock's end. "Pawn or Mastermind, they are still criminals that fully deserve what is coming to them." He then lowers his head, a distant look of sadness appearing on his face. "Familial love never saved anyone…it is pointless to even try… As a thirst for blood, once awakened, can never we satisfied." Ice-blue eyes looked up then, still emotionless…still empty. "It can only result with more people dying for their amusement."

But, instead of being angry, Sherlock looks at the man in his older brother's body with concern and worry.

None of that sounded like the man he grew up with...

Mycroft wouldn't let Eurus's actions get in the way of protecting her.

Mycroft wouldn't look upon his own kin as if they were bloodthirsty monsters.

 _Mycroft would_ _ **never**_ _give up like this._

"Mycroft…" The detective took a tentative step forwards, voice soft and quiet as if he was speaking with a frightened animal and not his elder brother. "What happened to you?"

The fox-haired man looked down at him, face devoid of emotion and eyes looking more like colored glass marbles, than windows to one's soul.

"Nothing." Came the cool response, tone betraying nothing. "Why?"

Sherlock wants to tell him.

Wants to scream out everything that's wrong with this situation.

To demand the location of his real brother, as he must have been replaced with an android look-alike.

To throw an enormous temper tantrum until Mycroft acts like himself again.

But…couldn't.

His tongue, usually unstoppable to the point of irritation, felt glued to his bottom jaw, forcing the detective to stay unusually quiet.

All he could do was hope the desperation and unspoken questions in his eyes, were enough for the elder man to deduce what would normally be spoken in a loud flow for angry shouts and gestures.

But, even if the strategy worked…Mycroft didn't show it.

His face remained the stoic mask of indifference, not matter what Sherlock threw at it.

Even when the elder spoke, it didn't give the results the curly-haired man was hoping for.

"If that's all, then I'm afraid I must be off." He then turns around and is fully prepared to leave the room, not paying any attention to the shocked looks on Sherlock and Lady Smallwood's faces.

"Mycroft!" The detective's vocal chords finally decide to work again.

The politician doesn't even look irritated with constantly being stopped from returning to his duties like he would a few days ago, and the younger Holmes began to question his ability to feel or even express any kind of emotion, at this point.

Mycroft, or someone wearing his skin, simply turned towards the detective with an expectant look in his eyes.

"Please…you can't do this." Sherlock looked close to tears, sounding like a six-year-old trying to talk an elder sibling out of running away from home, than he did an adult Consulting Detective. "It isn't like you."

The representative of the British Government didn't respond for a long time, only looked at him with a cool and uninterested stare.

"Why?" Mycroft asked in return. "I'm afraid I do not follow your line of thinking."

He turns around, and then looks over his shoulder at Sherlock.

"Isn't this how the 'Iceman' is supposed to act?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 6

"Everything is wrong now."

John knew something was wrong the moment Sherlock came home.

The normally very vocal detective, especially when it concerned his older brother and his actions, returned from confronting said relative completely silent.

That alone was enough for the doctor to worry about his best friend…

But it wasn't until he noticed how _pale_ Sherlock was, that he began expecting the worse.

"How'd it go?" Watson asked tentatively, once the curly-haired man plopped down next to him on the worn out couch.

Sherlock didn't respond.

He just continued to stare at the wall in front of him with eyes wide open and more fearful, than he ever saw them.

Finally, after a minute of tense silence, he spoke.

"They were… so empty."

"Sherlock?"

"His eyes…" The detective clarified softly. "They were the only things he couldn't control about himself." He chuckled, though the sound sounded forced and devoid of actual joy. "Even when everything else about him confirms he's saying the truth… like his heart beating evenly, or his hands being dry and cool to the touch… You could always tell he was lying just by seeing the guilt in his eyes."

John stayed silent, waiting for the detective to continue.

"I could always tell, you know? What he was really thinking." The detective's voice came out little louder than a whisper. "It's true what they say about eyes and them being the windows to one's soul, and Mycroft's were the best proof of that." He sighed. "I saw how scared he was each time I got myself in mortal danger, I saw his anger when I did something that threatened his carrier, but more importantly… I saw how hurt he was when our parents tore into him for his actions concerning Eurus."

"Well…" John fidgeted in his seat. "He certainly could have handled it better."

"Could he?" Sherlock whispered, voice still distant. "As days go by I begin to doubt there was a better way…"

"Okay…" The doctor watched his friend with concern in his eyes. "How so?"

"Eurus is… sick. Was, for a very long time." Sherlock leaned over and rested his head in his hands. "Even before we met, she acted unlike a child her age. Possessive of me to a point of drowning my previous best friend in a well… Probably tried to burn Mycroft along with the house for trying to warn our parents… It is fortunate that he survived that encounter, otherwise she would have ended in far worse a facility than Sherrinford." He took a deep breath. "You've seen how she acted once Mycroft's back was turned. She tried to force me to kill one of you for the sake of amusement, murdered other people and messed with their minds, purely because she was bored..."

"The confinement couldn't have helped." John snorted.

"It wasn't his idea." The detective shook his head. "He's only continuing what someone else had already started."

"That uncle Mycroft talked about?"

"Uncle Rudi…" Sherlock spoke quietly, tasting the name against his lips. "The source of all our problems."

"Again, how so?"

"You think Mycroft was born wanting to take over the English Government?"

"Er… wasn't he?"

The detective shook his curly-haired head.

"No. In fact, I believe he wanted to be an artist." He chuckled though the laugh sounded hollow. "Can you imagine that? Mycroft Magnus Holmes… the famous painter of still imagery and fauna." Sherlock's face fell. "And then _he_ stepped into our lives."

"Rudi?"

"Who else?" The detective snorted. "Mummy said he came by one day, after he found out Mycroft helped his son Harry with his math problems. Harry was in his second year in college, while my brother was six." He glared at the window, a frown firmly in place. "Rudi didn't bother asking Mummy for permission. He straight up picked Mycroft up from the kitchen table where he was drawing, and took him for a 'trip'." He sighed. "It was the first of many trips that completely changed both my older sibling's personality and his future."

John swallowed thickly.

"You're telling me… Mycroft has been groomed to become the British Government… since he was _six_?"

Sherlock simply nodded.

" _Jesus Christ…_ " Watson tried to imagine a sweet, ginger little boy that laughed, giggled and drew beautiful pictures of everything his sharp ice-blue eyes could see, just like any other six year old. He then pictured the same child being forced to abandon his passion, and mercilessly molded into the walking ice-block he is now.

His mind refused to think about what could have made the boy chose 'Caring is not an advantage' as his life motto.

There was just too many things that could badly affect a child's psyche. _Way_ too many.

And, considering this was the Holmes family, whatever happened to make an artistic child full of compassion, curiosity and innocence so guarded and fearful of failure, must have been horrid.

"Mycroft's training under Rudi was nothing short of pleasant, if my mother is to be believed." Sherlock whispered. "The only thing left intact from the child she once knew, was his eyes. The only thing uncle couldn't cover with ice."

"You… said something about them before."

"I have, haven't I?" Another mirthless chuckle. "I called them empty… The only thing that showed any kind of expression, even when he didn't want them to… was completely blank and devoid of emotion, when we had our conversation."

"That's…"

"More than a bit not good, yes." Sherlock added, not allowing his best friend to finish. "It means something is terribly _wrong_ with my brother."

John wriggled in his seat, nervousness obvious in his posture.

"He's going to kill her, John." The detective stated suddenly.

"What?" Watson cried out, disbelief clearly seen covering his face. "He… He can't do that!"

"Why not? He's on top of the government food chain, he practically creates the law we now abide." The detective sighed. "I doubt there will be anyone moronic enough to stand against him if he announced he wanted to… dispose of a dangerous criminal, since he's the one signing all their paychecks."

John bit his lip, he couldn't argue with _that_ logic, though there _was_ something he could raise an objection about in all this.

"Come on, Sherlock, I'm sure he's not being serious." He gently shoved the taller man's shoulder. "I mean, this is _Mycroft_ we're talking about, remember? Brother incarnate with a wee pinch of overprotectiveness?" The doctor then laughed trying to tone down the tension. "He may be a bit gloomy after everything that happened on the island, but there is absolutely no _way_ he's going to let anyone under his protection, _die_." He then gave his best friend an encouraging smile. " _Especially_ if it's a younger sibling."

But Sherlock didn't look reassured.

"Mycroft didn't act like it."

John tilted his sandy-colored head.

"Like what?"

The detective looked back at him, his own eyes hollow.

"Like it mattered if we're related or not."

He turned away again.

"Eurus is a murderer." Sherlock stated shakily. "So that's how he's going to treat her."

* * *

JA107: Hello my amazing readers! :D First I'd like to thank all of you for all the support and encouragement, you've been kind enough to give this lowly author that is myself ;) I'm glad you enjoy this little story, even if the plot is a big gloomy, and promise to improve it with each new chapter added. :D

On a further note, if you like the idea I presented for Mycroft's backstory, you may want to check out my two-shot 'Flying Dreams' where it is explored a bit further. J

Thank you for your attention

Love, JA107


	7. Chapter 7

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 7

"Shattering the pretense."

* * *

AN: Ladies and gentlemen, this the moment you've all been waiting for! The faithful confrontation between the world's worst couple of parents, and the broken, frozen shell of a man they once called 'son'.

Prepare yourselves, lovelies.

They are about to face the consequences of their actions.

* * *

It didn't take long for the Holmes parents, Siger and Violet, to pry information out of a grief-stricken Sherlock and show up unceremoniously on their eldest son's doorstep, demanding to see him.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Holmes." Anthea, the person sitting outside Mycroft's office, didn't sound apologetic in the least, as she looked at the furious mother before her, looking more than just a little unimpressed with what she saw. "But Mr. Holmes is busy with a delegation from France right now, and cannot be disturbed."

But Violet was having none of it.

She slammed her hands on the desk the PA was sitting at, fire in her eyes and anger in her voice.

"Tell him it's Mummy." Ms. Holmes practically hissed out. "And believe me when I tell you, he'll come _running_."

' _Like a dog beckoned by its master_ ' went unsaid but Anthea still heard it. So confident was the mother of the troublesome Holmes siblings, of her hold over her elder son. The PA's own eyes narrowed, glaring at the elderly lady with all the hate she could muster without making it obvious.

" _Yes, Ms. Holmes_." Anthea responded, voice icier than thought possible as she got up from her seat and marched over to the door she was tasked with guarding.

With a few well-placed knocks, she was allowed inside.

After a minute of tense silence, two sharply-dressed men left the room and the Holmes parents were signaled in.

With a huff, Violet marched into Mycroft's dark domain wanting nothing more than to set her boy straight. Expecting the man to flinch and curl onto himself from her thunderous expression alone, like every other time he was about to be punished for something wrong that he did.

But he remained as he was seated, eyes narrowed and back straight as a stick.

For a moment all they did was stare at each other in complete and utter silence, sewing in the disappointment that hung in the air like a particularly nasty fog.

Before the Government himself decided to speak.

"I thought that I told Sherlock the situation is out of your control." His voice was low and dangerous, tones it never took when talking to his mother.

Violet was _scandalized_.

"If you thought we would just stand there and watch you _murder_ our daughter, then I afraid you'll just end up disappointed!" She slammed her fists on the dark oaken desk, much like she did back in the hallway. "If you do not reconsider your decision regarding your treatment of Eurus we'll-"

"You'll, what?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat, looking far too calm for the elderly woman's liking. " _Please,_ do continue with your threat. I _so_ long to hear what you have planned for me if I do not follow with your demands."

' _He's mocking me_.' Ms. Holmes thought, furiously biting her bottom lip. ' _Why that disrespectful little_ -'

"We'll make all of this public!" She retorted, voice raised and filled with anger. "The island, the treatment of people locked up in there… everything! And, with that amount of exposed secrets, don't think you'll be able to retain your job!"

For a moment all Mycroft did was blink blankly at her, face an expressionless mask.

Before he responded.

"I'm sorry," Violet calmed down a bit at that, thinking things were finally falling into the usual order. "At some point I must have given you the impression that my occupation is minuscule enough for me to lose it." He placed his hand over his heart in a mocking gesture of how serious he was being. "Please accept my _heartfelt_ apology."

Both Holmes parents blistered back, shocked by the raw sarcasm in his voice. It was a tone that their eldest never used when addressing them, as he was always respectful when talking to his parents.

A tiny voice at the back of Violet's head whispered that he had every right to be angry. That maybe if they gave him the chance to explain himself way back when, then none of this would be happening right now, but she drowned it with her own disappointment and rage.

Mycroft threatened one of her children…

His feelings right now are incomparable to the peril he placed his sister into.

' _But isn't he your child too?_ ' The voice returned, a bit stronger this time.

Once again she ignored it.

' _No. Right now he isn't_.' She replied in thought, eyes sharpening again.

She came here to scold her eldest and make sure none of her foolish kids lose their lives in the process.

"Mycroft what you are about to do to Eurus is… it's _inhuman_!" She growled like an angry lioness. "How can you even _think_ about doing something like that to her, when all her actions come from spending most of her _life_ in the Hell _you_ created?!"

The fox-haired man's eyebrows rose.

"I see…" He said slowly. "It seems you are more _delusional_ than I had previously thought."

Violet _blistered_.

"I beg your pardon?!" Siger, who up to this point allowed to let his wife handle the situation, demanded looking just as offended as Ms. Holmes.

"You seem to have convinced yourself that all this is _my_ doing, _my_ fault." He leaned forwards, resting his shoulders on the wooden contraption in front of him and subsequently taking on a similar pose to that of his younger brother when in thought. "But could I really be held responsible?"

"Of course!" Both parents spoke up this time. "You're the one that took her away and lied about her death!"

"What Rudolph Holmes and I did, was respond to the given situation to the best of our ability." Mycroft retorted, voice cold. "Perhaps if you didn't bluntly disregard your own involvement in the matter, you would have seen what it really was."

"You dare accuse us of-"

"Oh I _dare_ , Ms. Holmes." He smirked, before turning serious once more. "I _dare_ because there is _no one_ more at fault here, than _you two_." Now Mycroft's voice was loud and dominating, a concerning combination when confronting a man who no longer had the boundaries keeping him from hurting others. "From what I've read in the files, you _had_ your chance to prevent her actions from escalating to this level when an institution for troubled children offered to give her much needed rehabilitation, after one of your sons raised awareness to her strange behavior." He looked at them, accusation clear in his sharp eyes. "The only reason you _refused_ take it, is because your _delusional_ outlook on the world prevented you from seeing that institution for what it was, preferring to think of it as a prison that will permanently dispose you of your child if you accept their help." His mouth contorted into a sneer. "Had you been the 'responsible' and 'caring' parents that you clearly believe yourself to be, you would have done what was _best_ for your _child, regardless_ of your irrational fears and concerns _."_ His eyes turned colder than the Holmes parents ever saw them. "Seeing that you did close to _nothing_ to help your troubled daughter, preferring to either ignore the problem or throw it on someone else's shoulders when it became too overbearing, makes me question how _any_ of your children remained in your care as long as they did."

Shocked into silence the two elders simply stared at the man before them, trying to find the child they raised somewhere inside the uncaring eyes looking back at them.

But they could find nothing of the sort.

Only an impenetrable coat of ice.

Violet swallowed thickly, deciding to switch tactics.

"Please Mycroft… reconsider your decision about Eurus. She was acting out because of the isolation you've placed her in, and I'm sure she'll be more than happy to cooperate if you just give us the chance to speak to her." She sobbed, finally releasing the tears that threatened to fall the moment Sherlock gave them the news. "We've already been tricked into believing one of our children has died twice in our lifetimes. I do not think we can bear going through that pain again."

The Mycroft she raised would have agreed to this.

No…

The Mycroft she raised would have _never_ allowed anything bad to happen to any of his younger siblings in the first place.

For a moment, all the elder Holmes son did was watch them with a blank look on his face…

Before he erupted in laughter that sounded hollow and completely devoid of mirth, catching both parents off guard.

They stared at him, hugging each other in fear of what he may say or do next, until he finally spoke.

"You selfish, _selfish_ people." He shook his head, still chuckling. A second later he stood up and leaned over his desk, cold fury in his eyes. "How dare you come here, _threaten_ me and then demand I fix _your_ mess to _your_ favor?! How _dare_ you stand here and suggest sparing your daughter's life, without taking into consideration all the mothers that lost _their_ children to her psychotic mind?! How _dare_ you defend her and blame everyone, but yourself, for her actions?!" He glared at them, angry and obviously insulted. "What gave you the _right_ to do _any_ of this?!"

Violet pressed herself closer to Siger, fear finally getting the better of her.

This wasn't the son she watched grow up.

"You do not have to answer, it doesn't matter at the moment." Mycroft continued, sounding calmer now. "You came here to discuss what is to be done with Eurus Holmes so, against my better judgement, we shall commence right to it." He pressed a button on his desk. "Send them in, Anthea."

"W-Wait, who else will be joining us?" Siger finally gathered enough courage to speak. "This is a family matter-"

"That involves many other families, and not just yours." Mycroft retorted, sending the older man an icy glare. "They should have a say in how Eurus Holmes is supposed to be dealt with." His expression softened and he shook his head regretfully. "They deserve as much after everything she put them through."

Violet swallowed, hugging her husband tighter.

Soon the door opened, and five elderly couples and one lone woman that looked older than the rest, entered the dark room either holding hands or hugging themselves for comfort.

When he noticed the lone woman, Mycroft stood up from his seat and walked up to her.

"I am glad you found the strength to attend this meeting, Ms. Anders." He spoke softly as he led the elderly lady to the chair behind his desk. "Hopefully this will put a satisfying conclusion to this horrendous mess." He added quietly, shaking his head.

The lady, much to Violet's confusion, smiled at her son and gently patted him on the chest.

"Of course I came, dear boy." Her smile faded a bit. "My son would want me to, after all…"

Mycroft looked at her and then at the other grieving parents.

"I'm so sorry I didn't manage to prevent all this from happening in the first place." He sighed lowering his head in a rear sign of humiliation. "My duty is to protect the people of the United Kingdom and instead I allowed your children to be murdered by a psychopath, here on my turf. This… this is an enormous failure on my part."

"Now my boy, none of that, please." Ms. Anders said sternly, gently pushing Mycroft's chin back up. "From what I've heard, you did all you could. It is not your fault you are physically incapable of keeping tabs on everything that can go wrong." She gave him a soft smile. "No more blaming yourself about all this, okay?"

The other grieving parents also came forwards to ease his guilt, much to the Holmes couple's surprise.

It appeared they had no ill will towards Mycroft, even with his direct connection to the murderer of their kids.

"Ms. Anders is right, you know." One of the elderly men said, patting him on the shoulder. "Even after… the atrocity," He swallowed thickly. "has been committed, you did all you could to make sure we had everything we needed. Took care of the funeral procedures, got us medical help, paid our bills when we weren't able to focus on the real world because of grief, and checked up on us yourself whenever you had the time." He smiled. "Even if we had held you responsible, which we didn't, you've more than earned yourself our forgiveness."

The other couples humed and nodded in agreement.

Violet and Siger watched this open show of affection, stunned.

Apparently Mycroft feels _responsible_ for Eurus's actions, at least when it came to those she hurt. So much so in fact, that he tried his hardest to make sure they didn't have to deal with the enormous pain alone. He was there for them in more ways than one, it seemed, never able to apologize enough for the misery his little sister caused.

This showed he really cared about those under his protection, and that he takes seeing them hurt as a large failure on his part.

Realizing that, something lifted from the Holmes parents' eyes, and they looked at their eldest son as if this was the first time they truly saw him.

"Mycroft…" Violet whispered under her breath.

Hearing all the approval around him, the red-haired man smiled a smile that would have been genuine if it wasn't for the fact that the spark that usually accompanied his eyes when he was truly happy, was absent.

"Thank you all for your kind words." He nodded his head in thanks. "But, regardless of my feelings towards the situation, we are here to discuss something that needs to be resolved quickly for all of your sanities, and peace of mind."

The mood immediately turns serious, as they all nodded and turned to the Holmes couple that has been ignored ever since everyone came in.

Siger and Violet shrunk under their penetrating gazes.

"As much as I would like to solve this in my own way, you all deserve to discuss between yourselves what kind of punishment would suit the crimes Eurus Holmes has committed against you." Mycroft then backed away from the desk, voicelessly giving up his say in the matter and communicating to them that he'll agree to whatever they decide was the best course of action.

For a long while all they did was look at each other in silence, before suggestions begun flowing between the gathered elders.

Violet couldn't believe this was happening.

Here, in this very room, right in front of her… people were discussing how to best punish her daughter for all the wrongdoings she has committed…

And she couldn't do anything about it.

There was _never_ a moment in her life during which she felt more helpless than right now.

' _This is it…_ ' Ms. Holmes thought, tears falling freely now. ' _They are going to kill her…_ '

After what seemed like ages, Ms. Anders spoke up on behalf of the group.

"We came to a conclusion, Mycroft." She was addressing the older Holmes brother but her wise, brown eyes were glaring at Violet and Siger.

In the corner of her vision, Ms. Holmes saw her son nod.

"And what would that be?" He asked, voice quiet and ready to accept anything.

"As easy as it would be to simply… dispose of her." The elderly lady's eyes softened. "We are not savages. We wish only for Eurus to be punished, no one else. Not you, not Sherlock and not her parents."

Violet swallowed thickly.

Another nod could be seen in Mycroft's corner, signaling for her to continue.

"So if it is okay with you…"

"I already told you I will do whatever it is you all agree on." The fox-haired man shook his head. "This has been your decision to make from the beginning, not mine."

"We would like you to simply ensure that she will _never_ hurt anyone _ever_ again."

Mycroft frowned at that.

"I'm afraid keeping her in prison hasn't worked so far…" He spoke up softly. "She has already proved that with her recent… stunt."

"We're not asking you to lock her up once more, Mycroft-dear." Ms. Anders spoke up locking her eyes with his. "We're asking you to _dispose of the one thing that allows her to cause harm_."

Violet and Siger flinched at the harsh tone, as well as the indication of what she means.

Mycroft stayed silent for a moment before nodding.

"I shall make the necessary preparations." He then looked at the elderly people gather around his desk. "Anthea will make sure you all have a safe return to your homes."

And with a few last goodbye hugs from the concerned elders, both them and Mycroft exited the room.

Leaving the Holmes parents alone with their thoughts, with nothing but their beating hearts to keep them company.

* * *

AN: I hope this lives up to your expectations ;) Thanks for reading


	8. Chapter 8

"Ultra Imfirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 8

"Brave on, little boy, lost in a gray fog. How long will you remain such, before they realize you're not coming back?" pt.1

Cassandra Anders could not contain her surprise when, just a few days after their first meeting when they all gathered to discuss how to best handle Eurus, the Holmes elders appeared on her doorstep.

She didn't remember giving them her address, and Mycroft assured her it was secured and under heavy surveillance since the Holmes sister's rampage.

Huffing in annoyance she assumed they must have asked their detective son for her location.

"Can I help you both with anything?" She asked coldly, fully prepared to call the police to get those people off her property if they become to bothersome. Her normally so kind and cheerful face was now a mask of indifference and barely hidden disgust, as she had no respect for Mycroft's parents whatsoever.

Violet seemed to shrink at her icy glare, still feeling the after effects of the one her eldest gave her not too long ago.

"We… wished to discuss something with you, Ms. Anders." She whispered, clutching her husband's arm like a life-line.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"If it's about Eurus and her punishment, I'm afraid the decision has been made final and there is nothing I can do even if I wanted to." She then walked back a step in order to close the door in their faces. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a grandson that needs to be prepared for kindergarten."

But before she could excuse herself from their presence…

"Wait, Ms. Anders, please!" Siger suddenly placed his hand on the door, preventing it from closing. "It's not about Eurus!"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow in a perfect mimicry of her fox-haired charge.

"Is that so..." She started slowly, inviting them to continue.

The man just nodded, now determined to keep her interest.

"Sherlock said you've been a psychologist in your prime… is that true?"

Well… that's not what she was expecting at all.

"...and if it is?" She answered smoothly.

"Could..." Violet whispered, finally returning to the conversation. "Could you tell us what happened to Mycroft?" She finally looked up from staring at the doormat. "He's been… different, since Eurus came back to our lives."

' _That is an understatement_.' She thought with a snort. ' _The poor boy's emotional stability has been crushed into dust, by the people he valued the most. I say it's a miracle he lasted as long as he did without experiencing a mental breakdown_.'

Ms. Anders's eyes narrowed in anger.

"I'm afraid that what you're asking for, is classified information. One I can only share with the agreement of my client." She answered, voice calm and even, though her brown eyes betrayed the anger she felt. "And even if my doctor policy allowed me to give you the information you seek, I don't think you deserve to know."

They flinched at the harshness of her tone but otherwise remained determined to convince her.

"Please..." Violet Holmes looked deep into her eyes, unshed tears shining in them. "I just want to know what caused my son to change so much in such a short amount of time."

Despite her enormous grudge against those irresponsible parent, something in Cassandra softened at the scared and worried tone Violet's voice just took.

She sighed, shaking her head sadly.

"Oh Ms. Holmes where do I even begin..."

* * *

Cassandra led the couple into her living room so that they could make themselves comfortable, before leaving for her kitchen to make something hot to drink.

She knew that it was going to be a very long and painful conversation for the two of them, and a cup of nice calming tea might be just what they'll need to get through it.

All of them, herself included. As Mycroft became very dear to her in the short time they knew each other, and his past was something he confined in her, after a stern lecture about bottling one's emotions for an extended period of time. Telling his parents parts of his history that they were either too blind to notice happening before their very eyes or simply not pirvy to, felt like betraying the trust he bestowed her with.

' _I'm sorry, Mycroft_.' Cassandra thought, feeling guilty about what she was about to do. ' _But maybe my words will make them see, what your actions alone, couldn't. Maybe when they hear what you've been through… what you've sacrificed to keep your family safe and whole, they'll realize how horribly they treated the amazing son they've been graced with._ '

With a deep sigh she rejoined the couple in the living room.

After giving them each a cup of Earl Grey, she leaned back in her seat.

"I must admit that, though sudden, the change in your son's behavior has been long since foretold by the events he has partaken in throughout his life." The psychologist took a long sip from her own mug before continuing. "If you look at said events and how they would affect a human's psyche, it is truly a wonder he didn't undergo it sooner."

"You'll have to provide examples for us, Ms. Anders." Violet said, voice small and shaky. "Mycroft was never a very expressive person, even when he was a young child. We were never informed of every traumatizing thing that occurred while he was at work."

Cassandra Anders let out a sad chuckle and shook her head.

"But, Ms. Holmes… I'm not talking about his adult years, I'm talking about his _childhood_."

Both parents looked up, startled and shocked.

"What? But nothing ever-"

"How would _you_ know?" Cassandra cut them off with an angry hiss. "You barely pay any attention to him now, why would him being _younger_ change that?"

"He's our _son_!" Siger answered, raising his voice. "We _raised_ him!"

" _Did_ you really?" She glared at them. "I seem to remember the age of a human entering adulthood to be eighteen, not _six_!"

"What are you talking about?!" Now Violet was also screaming. "We supported him till he was old enough to get his first job in the Government! Which he was given at age 24!"

But Ms. Anders just laughed.

Look at those fools.

They really know nothing about their son.

Nothing at all.

They didn't know his childhood has been robbed from him, right under their noses.

That they let it happen with no hesitation… that they did _nothing_ to stop it.

They don't know what he had seen, what he's been through…

Because Mycroft would not allow them, or anyone, to be burdened with his problems.

And it wasn't as if they would actually _listen_ to him, even if he _had_ tried to tell them.

They had their chance when they met him to discuss the reappearance of Eurus. Instead of owning up to their parental failures, they chose to place all of them on the one person who didn't deserve any of them. And now, that the results of that action have reared their ugly heads, they come to her for answers they could have gotten if they just _listened,_ when Mycroft was _desperate_ for them to understand all the reasons why.

Cassandra couldn't feel more disgusted with fellow human beings, if she tried.

"Please, Ms. Holmes, be honest with yourself." Cassandra shook her head at the distraught mother. "We all know Mycroft hasn't been under your care since his late uncle Rudolph took him for the first of the many 'trips'."

Violet spluttered.

"He has nothing to do with any-"

"Oh but he very much _does_ , Ms. Holmes." Cassandra took another large sip of her cooling tea, before continuing to explain the situation to the clueless adults before her. "You see he's the starting point of the avalanche that crushed the boy you once knew. Everything that happened is because of what he taught your son."

The Holmes parents stared at her, speechless for a good few seconds, before finally speaking up once again.

"Rudolph was very… affectionate with Mycroft, that is true." Siger nodded his head slowly. "Even with Sherlock and Eurus already born, he barely even acknowledged them, preferring the company of our eldest over everyone else's." His gaze turned harder then. "But not only is he long dead, but also has nothing to do with how Mycroft is acting right now."

Cassandra Anders shook her head again.

"Tell me, Mr. Holmes..." She played around with her mug, not looking the younger man in the eyes. "Do you know what job your wife's older brother actually occupied?"

Violet frowned.

"He occupied the same place in the British Government, Mycroft does today." She looked up at Cassandra. "So I'm assuming it was a position in the department of defense."

The psychologist in the room barely contained her laughter.

It was _horrifying_ how much they don't know about their own child, his mare _occupation_ being only a vague guess to them.

But… as dreadful as that information is, nothing compares to the knowledge that _they did_ _ **nothing**_ _to change that._

They never sat the boy down and asked him to be honest with them, regardless of the danger the knowledge might put them in. Not in the recent years, and certainty not when he was making his first baby steps towards the amount of power and influence he now yields on a daily basis, all those years ago.

What did they _ever_ do to deserve him, Cassandra Anders will never know.

Because in her eyes, they _don't_. At all.

"Again, your information is incomplete, Mr. and Ms. Holmes." She stated, leveling the pair with an even stare. "Your son doesn't just work for _one_ department in our wonderful Government. He juggles _all_ of them, everyday day of the week with little to no breaks, since the occupation became empty. Because he's both leader and guardian of the United Kingdom, can you imagine that? Every law you follow, every political problem our country faces, every crisis that suddenly gets resolved before it had the chance to properly wreak havoc.. .all this and more is monitored and controlled by _your_ son." She then snorted. "And _you_ never knew."

But Siger was already shaking his silver head.

"That… that's impossible." He stated, clearly in denial. "You're saying he alone controls a country but… that can't be true, there is no way one person can keep track of everything, that's why there is more than one department taking care of all this."

"And yet… your boy found a way to make that work." Cassandra smiled at the mention of the ginger haired man that she came to respect so much. "Aren't you proud of him, Siger?" She then scoffed and shook her head. "No… of course you're not. Why would you be? After all… he _had_ kept that _one_ secret from you. It didn't matter that he did it out of a strong desire to protect you from the truth, because he was worried _sick_ you could not take it. No. What _you_ cared about was that he still _lied_." She sighed. "Good intentions or bad, a lie is a lie." She then spoke with an amount of sarcasm that wasn't there before. "Why even _bother_ with _his_ side of the story?"

Both Violet and Siger grit their teeth.

"That doesn't excuse him." They hiss out.

"Why not?" Cassandra didn't miss a beat. "After all something as petty as ignorance excused _you_ of all fault, when it comes to Eurus and her mental issues."

It was clear they both wanted to say something, but decided otherwise.

' _What's wrong? Cat got your tongues?_ ' She thought, sarcastically. ' _Good_.'

Though a small part of her wished they'd put up more of a fight, if only so she can knock them down harder.

"Moving on then," Cassandra was disappointed with the lack of liquid in her mug. "When exactly do you think he took over after your brother, Ms. Holmes?"

She seemed to be gazing at the ex-psychologist with suspicion shining in her eyes, before slowly answering.

"I already told you that, Ms. Anders." She sounded like a mother explaining something to a child for the millionth time, tone stiff and condescending. "Rudolph died when Mycroft was twenty-three, but my son didn't take over… leading the Government, as you were so kind to clear up a few moments ago, until he was twenty-nine." She blinked suddenly, her conviction suddenly dying. "At least… that is what's written in Mycroft's CV… by the Government."

Cassandra smiled.

' _Would you look at that..._ ' She thought sarcastically. ' _She can_ _ **learn**_.'

"Those are lies too, aren't they?" Violet asked, voice small and scared.

Ms. Anders didn't respond. Only stared at the younger woman, willing her to come to her own conclusions.

The Holmes mother swallowed thickly, her hand automatically reaching for Siger's arm.

"When..." She couldn't finish on the first try, her fear blocking her vocal cords. "When did Mycroft _really_ take over from my brother?"

Cassandra debated whether or not they deserve to know, but ultimately she decided that, even if they didn't, the knowledge will help with fixing Mycroft's broken relationship with his parents.

She took a deep breath.

' _Here it goes..._ '

"Your son took over Rudolph's position exactly twenty-four hours after he was assassinated by an opposing government." She paused. "Which happened a day before Mycroft's nineteenth birthday."

She watched as both of them freeze, realization hitting them like a ton of bricks. Facts and behaviors finally connecting together, making the bigger picture a bit more visible to the naked eye.

"That's… but he said… how?" Questions just began flowing from both Holmes parents, as they desperately tried to comprehend what has just been revealed to them.

' _There_.' Cassandra thought, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. ' _Now they know. Let's see what they do with that knowledge_.'

Siger looked pale… really, _really_ pale.

"Oh God..." He whispered, eyes wide. "All this time we though he got consumed by law studies and that's why he no longer spent time with us and his siblings… while in fact he was struggling to keep England from falling apart on his watch…" The elder man looked up at the psychologist, eyes foggy and unseeing. "I… remember when we somehow convinced him to come home for winter break." Siger swallowed thickly. "He… was so stressed during those days, locking himself in his room the moment meals were over..." His eyes turned glassy and he blinked the tears away. "I… we teased him about it… rather mercilessly, thinking he's just worrying about his grades and upcoming exams. It simply didn't make sense at the time. Why would someone as smart as Mycroft be concerned about tests he can probably ace in his sleep?" He shook his head in shame. "That's mostly why everyone, including myself, was so angry when he announced he suddenly had to go back to school on Christmas Day..."

* * *

" _This is_ _ **ridiculous**_ _, Mycroft!" Siger screamed, throwing his arms in the air in sheer frustration._

" _Father,_ _ **please**_ _..." The young ginger pleaded, exhaustion and stress clear in both tone and his ice-blue eyes, as he rubbed at them with his right hand._

" _How stupid do you think we are, boy?!" But the parent wasn't about to let this all go. "It's the beginning of school break!_ _ **How**_ _can you be called to University_ _ **already**_ _?!"_

 _Mycroft sighed, clearly getting annoyed with where the conversation was going._

" _This_ _ **isn't**_ _up for debate." He said sternly. "I'm sorry that our time together is cut so painfully short, but this isn't something I can control!"_

 _Siger looked disgusted._

" _I can't_ _ **believe**_ _you." The elder man hissed at his son. "Even after spending the majority of the year apart from us, you don't even have the_ _ **decency**_ _to stay with your family for Christmas!"_

 _The angry frown on the nineteen-year-old's face was the first warning the parent got that his, normally cool and collected, son was slowly losing his patience._

" _What_ _ **I**_ _can't believe is the fact that I have to_ _ **repeat**_ _myself!" He all but blew up in Siger's face, the stress regarding the Government that has been thrust upon his shoulders prematurely, finally getting the better of him. "How_ _ **hard**_ _is it to understand that this_ _ **isn't**_ _something I can just_ _ **ignore**_ _?!"_

" _Stop making up excuses to stay away from your family!"_

" _Stop making it look like this is something I do_ _ **willingly**_ _!"_

 _Before Siger had the time to respond, Mycroft's phone started ringing._

 _Immediately the teenager's hand rushed towards his jeans pocket, in order to fish out the inferior devise before it annoyed anyone else with it's ungodly screeching._

 _The second he saw who the caller is, a quiet curse escaped his mouth._

" _Don't even_ _ **think**_ _about it." Siger snarled, when he saw Mycroft move to answer the phone. "We're nowhere_ _ **near**_ _done with this conversation."_

 _The fox-haired youth swallowed the lump that suddenly formed inside his throat._

" _I'm sorry..." He said, voice nearly drowned by his own ringtone. "But I_ _ **have**_ _to take this call."_

" _Mycroft if you answer that phone-"_

" _Listen, I know you, mummy and Sherlock interpret this as me trying to get away from you all to focus on my studies." Mycroft ran a hand through his short, curly hair in order to calm his growing nerves. "That I probably got a colleague to ring me at this precise moment in time so that I have an excuse. And, truly, I cannot blame you from thinking that, as I've been quite… distant lately. But trust me when I say, the situation I'm in is_ _ **not**_ _that_ _ **simple**_ _!"_

" _Then explain yourself!" Violet decided to join the heated argument. "Tell you why it is impossible for you to spend Christmas with your loved-ones."_

 _At that, the poor nineteen-year-old deflated, looking more exhausted than ever before. His shoulders slumped as if crushed under an enormous weight. One that he, not only has to bare alone, but also without being able to consult with anyone else._

" _Believe me, there is nothing I want to do more." He whispered, honesty shining in his ice-blue eyes. "But I_ _ **can't**_ _, I'm sorry." Mycroft looked deep into the similarly colored orbs of his parents. "You're going to have to trust me when I say this has_ _ **nothing**_ _to do with my desire for solitude." The caller was already calling for the second time, clearly his patience has been tested enough._

 _Siger and Violet could see the plead in his eyes._

 _How much he wished they would just look back at him, and say 'we believe you, son'._

 _But the parents grew weary of all the secrecy._

" _Go then, if you must." Siger spat out, looking at his son with cold fury that, he now knows, the boy did_ _ **not**_ _deserve."But don't bother coming back."_

 _He turned his back on Mycroft then, completely missing the shocked and pained expression that took residence on the young man's face._

 _Violet didn't say anything. Even when her son looked to her for intervention, the Holmes mother narrowed her eyes and shook her head._

 _She saw Mycroft swallow, the pained expression going down along with the saliva, leaving behind what will one day be called 'The Iceman Mask'._

" _I… understand." He whispered, not trusting his voice to not betray him and crack. That said, he turned heel and left, phone already placed against his ear, muttering an apology to whoever was on the other side._

 _And then he was gone._

 _Unsurprisingly… he didn't come back._

* * *

Siger's eyes got misty again.

"Why?" He asked, tears running down his cheeks. "Why didn't we trust him, Violet? Where did all that mistrust come from? What did he ever _do_ to deserve it? Yes, he had his secrets, but what kind of teenager _doesn't_? That knowledge alone does _not_ justify our treatment of him that day." Siger shook his head. "Especially… especially since he was so supportive… so gentle and understanding towards us and Sherlock during our recovery from Eurus's 'death', becoming an anchor we all leaned on for _months_ on end. He was so _strong_ during those days, letting all of us cry on his shoulder, as he whispered reassurance into our ears until we calmed down... You won't believe how _easy_ it was to just let _him_ take care of _us_ , and not the other way around..." Fear suddenly appeared in the man's blue orbs. "Did… did we ever… comfort _him_ , Violet? He… he put on a brave facade but… he couldn't have been taking all this much better than Sherlock. Especially… especially since he was in on Rudy's secret..." He flinched, appalled by his earlier actions towards Mycroft. "How… How did it come to this?" The man then buried his head in his hands and started weeping.

Violet didn't have the answers to any of her husband's questions, so she just wrapped her arms around him and hugged Siger close.

Cassandra's eyes softened as the genuine regret could hear in the younger man's tone.

The blinders were off… and the naked truth glared back at the eldest Holmes, finally exposed in its entirety.

' _They see what they did to him… only it's too little too late_.' She thought shaking her head in grief, remembering how Mycroft's, usually so expressive, eyes were lifeless and dull, during their last meeting.

"So this…" The psychologist's attention snapped back towards the crying bundle as Violet's words. "is what happened to Myc..." The woman's voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear. "He tried so _hard_ to make sure we all had proper care when facing hard times, didn't pay attention to the growing cracks in his own armor… He put up with _our_ mistrust and neglect in favor of his younger brother and _Sherlock's_ developing hatred for him, while simultaneously bending over backwards trying to live up to Rudolph's expectations as leader of the United Kingdom, all on his own with n _o one to ask for advice_ , for _decades_." Violet shook her head. "You were right, Ms. Anders."

"Oh?" Cassandra prompted, her small victory feeling hollow.

"It _is_ a wonder he didn't crack under all of that sooner." Ms. Holmes added in a whisper. "Dear God… what have we _done_?"

"He was already standing over the cliff long before Eurus's return..." Cassandra responded kindly. "You two simply… delivered the final push."

They flinched at the metaphor, tightening their hug, desperate for comfort.

"How..." Siger finally looked up, though the tears never stopped flowing. "How do we help him? Make this right?" His blue eyes were shining with determination. "We let him shoulder all the responsibility and blame for far too long." Siger's strong hand enveloped Violet's fragile one. "I think it's high time we start acting like his parents."

His wife looked up at him and, after a few seconds, her own eyes began shining with determination.

She nodded her head, squeezing her husband's hand in return.

They then turned to Ms. Anders, waiting for her to show them how to achieve redemption in Mycroft's eyes.

But the ex-psychologist was shaking her head sadly, that simple movement snuffing out the tiny flame of hope that sparked in their hearts.

"You poor naive fools..." She whispered, though it lacked her earlier bite, voice now filled with nothing but grief. "Even if you apologize and promise to make it all up to him, it won't change a thing." A shaky breath left her chest.

"W-What do you mean?" Violet was now crying.

"Don't you see?" Cassandra asked, shaking her head again. "We're not dealing with _Mycroft_ , anymore." She sighed. "You see, when you treat a caring older brother like he's the scum of the earth his entire life, regardless of his actual actions..." She then looked up at the terrified couple. "You can't really expect him to _care_ once you finally realize your mistakes."

They continued to stare at her, shock and terror returning back on their faces.

"Mycroft Holmes created the 'Iceman' mask to protect those he loved from potential enemies, by pretending he doesn't care..." She paused. "Now, when everyone turned their backs on him… that mask swallowed him whole."

"Are you saying..." Siger swallowed. "That there is no way to fix it?"

Ms. Anders snickered, though there was no mirth in the action.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes… you misunderstand yet again." She shook her wise head. "I'm not saying you _can't_ fix your failures in parenting..."

Her brown orbs met his blue eyes.

"I'm saying there is _nothing_ left for you to fix."

* * *

AN: Hi everyone! I'm writing to tell you that, since I'm leaving for summer vacation, updates won't be as frequent as they have been. Worry not, however, as I don't plan on leaving you lot without entertainment ;) Since I enjoy exploring Mycroft's past in the timeline I created, I will be uploading short flashback-chapters to keep you from growing bored :)

Hope you enjoy the story so far!

Have a nice summer vacation!

Love

JulieArchery107


	9. Chapter 9

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 9

"What's hidden beneath the ice: Loss"

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft already knew whoever it was, it couldn't be good news.

"I'll get it!" Thirteen-year-old Sherlock called, before rushing to the front entrance.

The ginger youth could hear the door swing open and a knot tightened around his stomach.

After a few minutes his curly haired brat of a brother was banging against his bedroom door.

"Hey, Fatcroft! He says he's here to talk to you." He made a small pause to catch his breath, but to the elder Holmes it felt like an eternity. "It's about uncle Rudy."

Mycroft's heart sank.

* * *

"...what?"

He knew this was stupid...

He knew he shouldn't be questioning what the agent just told him...

But it was just so hard to believe...

The man before him didn't seem to mind the dumb question being thrown his way, as he simply gazed at Mycroft with a sad look on his face as he repeated what he came here to say.

"Rudolph Holmes has been shot during his conference with the Turkish president. I'm afraid the wound is fatal. He is now awaiting you at the hospital. I'm sorry."

Despite hearing this a second time, the fox-haired teenager's brain refused to accept it as a fact.

It wasn't true.

It COULDN'T be.

Uncle Rudy can't die NOW!

He… He wasn't READY.

Mycroft felt like a child being told his parents were dead and that he was now solely responsible for his siblings.

Mainly because, he was.

That's exactly what was gonna happen after Rudy breathes his last breath.

Swallowing the cries and screams that desperately wanted to get out of his throat, he schooled his face into something more professional before addressing the agent.

"I..." He hated this. This… this plain show of weakness. The way his body shivered, the way his voice broke… He was supposed to be better than that.

"Caring is not an advantage."

He repeated those words like a mantra, until his body decided to act like a respectful adult that knew what he was signing up for, and wasn't affected by a family member's death.

"I would like to see him now, if you please."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

The hospital room was as sickly looking and pale as the man it was holding.

Uncle Rudy's face was white, his skin clammy and covered with sweat, breathing ragged and painful to listen to.

The bandages over his heart sporting growing bloodstains.

Mycroft bit his lip.

His uncle didn't have long.

10-15 minutes.

That's all the time the boy had before the weight of the world was placed on his young shoulders.

He took a break and quietly closed the door behind him, trying not to disturb his injured relative.

Despite his efforts, the older man still woke up.

"Boy?" He whispered, opening one eye to look towards the entrance to his room.

"Yes, uncle." Mycroft nodded and walked up to the bed. "I'm here."

Rudolph smiled a pained smile at his star pupil before his face turned serious again.

"You know what's happening, don't you, Mycroft?"

Mycroft nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

Rudy let out a dry chuckle, though it sounded more like a pained groan.

"Perceptive… .as always... my boy."

He began closing his eyes but Mycroft grabbed his hand ruffly.

"Don't!" The boy didn't mean for it to come out so loud. Nor that desperate and begging. "I… I'm not ready!" He squeezed the cold hand with his two warm ones, willing his life force into the hurt man. "There are still so many things you haven't taught me..."

Rudy fixated his nephew with a disapproving glare.

"Life rarely asks if we're ready, boy." He grumbled. But then his demeanor softened. "You'll figure it out, dear boy. I know you will."

But Mycroft shook his head.

"I won't… I can't." His ice-blue eyes shined with unshed tears. "Have someone else take your place."

"We talked about this." Rudy let out an annoyed huff. "There is no one else, but you."

Mycroft grit his teeth.

"Look at me, uncle!" He gestured at his young body. "To them I'm just a child, a brat with too many privileges! They'll never listen to me!"

"Then make them!" Rudolph's voice suddenly regained a bit of it's usual fire. "Show them the brilliant mind you hide under those ginger curls, like you've shown me." He looked deep into the youth's eyes. "You're the leader England needs, Mycroft, even if you yourself don't see it. You just have to prove it to the rest of the world."

But the teen just shook his head.

"You don't know what you're asking of me."

"I do, boy. I truly do." Rudy squeezed the boy's hand. "I'm asking you because I know that, no matter how much you protests, you'll do what must be done." He smiled a sad smile at his favorite nephew. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, dear boy."

"Your trust is misplaced." Mycroft was still shaking his head. "If I was half as strong as you believe me to be, I… I wouldn't be begging you to delay the inevitable. I would have accepted the fact and did as you asked."

"Oh Mycroft..." Rudy shook his head gently and pulled the teen into a hug. "Most people wouldn't have survived half of what life put you through, dear boy." He hugged him tighter. "No matter how hard it is, I know you will do me proud." He then patted the Ginger's back. "This country needs you, Mycroft." His voice grew weaker, along with his hug, as his time was drawing to a close.

"Don't go..." Mycroft was crying, Rudy could feel the tears on his hospital gown. "Please… I can't do this without you."

But Rudolph just shook his head and, using the last of his strength, whispered.

"You'll have to."

* * *

AN: Hello everyone! Wojtek, Julie's beta reader here! JA is currently on summer holidays, but she couldn't wait and sent me this chappy to share with you on her behalf. We hope you like it and if you do, show your love in the comments!

PS: Updates won't be as frequent for a while, because we gotta give other fanfics a chance too ;)


	10. Chapter 10

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 10

"What's hidden beneath the ice: Guilt"

He was a mess.

A complete wreck of who he once was.

A shell with no life, walking among people who still had that light in them.

He laughed.

Oh how low he has fallen...

A rising star beat down before he was even close to reaching his peak.

Oh what an utter failure he turned out to be.

His name was undoubtedly cursed by his deceased relative, wherever he may now reside.

Rudy had such high hopes for him and yet...

How can he possibly lead this country, if he can't even prevent a simple assassination?

He shook his head, the motion making him dizzy.

' _Even Sherlock could predict something so primitive._ '

It was clear now that the position was never meant for him to hold.

No matter how hard he tried… it didn't work.

He just...

Couldn't seem to be able to do it.

For the last week he wasn't able to sleep. Eating anything made his insides cause an uproar.

Even his greatest pride, his mind, has betrayed him.

He couldn't even think properly.

It was all so sudden and he… wasn't ready. He wasn't expecting his uncle to die before he reached the age of twenty...

Oh, he knew it would happen eventually, only a fool would believe otherwise.

Just as he knew the same fate awaits him, when the time comes.

Mycroft was aware that attempts on his uncle's life were quite likely to happen...

He just never expected his uncle to get gunned down in an allied area.

He didn't expect a sniper...

He didn't expect an instant death...

He didn't expect to have to welcome the burden just yet...

He allowed his awareness to be lulled into a false sense of security, a delusion of safety, when Rudolph left for the meeting... And now he was facing the consequences.

During his first day in the 'job' all he could do was stare at the door, waiting for the man who will never come, to greet him.

Without proper nutrition, even his mind became sluggish and half-aware, body relying on muscle memory to get him through the day.

' _It was my fault._ ' His treacherous brain whispered. ' _I should have known this would happen._ '

He was barely aware of his right hand moving towards the pen, while his other one pulled up another file.

' _This had to be telegraphed in some way..._ ' With no one and nothing there to distract him, the boy continued to poison his mind with undeserved guilt. ' _An attack like that couldn't have been improvised..._ '

He heard a door open but didn't bother looking up to check who that was.

' _I should have seen it coming..._ '

A silhouette appeared in the corner of his vision but he couldn't care less.

If he was useless enough to let his superior get killed, he might as well pay the price for that treachery.

' _I should have saved him..._ '

The pen in his hand snapped under the pressure he put on it.

' _Taken his place..._ '

The paper crumbled when his fingers curled into a fist.

' _Done something!_ '

His mind was screaming that the figure is getting closer now, but he ignored the warnings.

' _Let him come._ ' Mycroft thought with a bitter smile. ' _Let him fire that gun he's hiding in his breast pocket._ ' He loosened his grip on the items he violated. ' _Let him rid the world of it's greatest failure._ '

As the man drew near, all the boy could say was:

"Not in the head, please."

* * *

He blinked, trying to clear his head of the sudden fog that obscured his thinking process, as the Queen formally accepted him into his rank.

' _They saved me._ '

"By the power vested in me I hereby name you, Mycroft Magnus Holmes, the successor to the position of Guide and Protector of England."

A scepter touched his right shoulder then moved to his right one.

But he wasn't even paying attention.

' _They managed to save me..._ '

He was so close… so close to atoning for his sins, to ridding his beloved country of his cursed fingers...

The assassin's gun was already pressed against his chest...

All it would take was a single pull of the trigger...

' _But they saved me..._ '

"Rise, Young One, and join your place in the circle."

' _Why do you still want me, My Queen?_ ' Icy Blue eyes looked up at the elderly lady from where their owner was kneeling.

' _I can't even die properly_ '


	11. Chapter 11

"Ultra Imfirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 10

"Hidden beneath the Ice: Duty."

' _This is it._ ' The newly appointed British Government thought to himself as the problem he's expected to solve, was being presented to him by one of his country's Generals. ' _The final trial_ _…_ _the hardest of challenges..._ '

"...the villagers have all been identified as either sick or carriers of the aforementioned disease, sir. In addition, the medical investigation concluded that there is no known cure for what's ailing them, nor will one surface before they all succumb to the symptoms."

The man reading the report sounded mechanical and monotone, as if he was discussing the weather and not the fate of hundreds of innocent human beings that just happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

But Mycroft knew better.

He saw the signs: the subtle shaking of his left hand, the tiny beads of sweat coating his forehead…

They all pointed to once conclusion.

Some of those unfortunate souls… were _related_ to him.

Wife, sons, daughters… parents… friends and distant relatives…

And he was about to leave their fate in the hands of an inexperienced _child_ , not nearly old enough to have such a heavy burden placed upon his shoulders.

He didn't trust Mycroft's judgment.

That was okay.

Mycroft didn't trust it either, not after what happened to Rudy.

Quite honestly… he was surprised the queen even decided to let him _keep_ the position, since his negligence was the reason Rudolph wasn't with them anymore.

He should be thrown in jail for the murder of a relative, with the key to his cell thrown out the window and never retrieved.

But he supposed facing today's agenda was a more fitting punishment than anything else, really…

After all… this is where the boy must be sacrificed, so that the man can emerge from his ashes…

And be the hero they _need_ him to be.

' _ **Do what must be done**_.'

"What are the symptoms of the illness, General?" The Prime Minister sitting to Mycroft's right, asked, voice grave and hollow.

"The symptoms include: extensive internal bleeding, abdominal pains, rotting of flesh and severe paralysis."

The queen sighed, her proud features schooled into a mask of concern and sadness.

"Such grave conditions… It would be inhuman to let those poor people suffer them longer than they have to " She whispered shaking her head. "I believe we all know what we must do."

She made it sound so easy…

Perhaps because it wasn't _her_ signature signing those damned papers.

It wasn't _her_ conscience that was going to be weighted down by those deaths.

 _She_ wasn't going to be blamed and cursed left and right by their relatives.

 _She_ wasn't going to have to face _any_ of this.

But _Mycroft_ was.

And the prospect was already making him feel _sick_.

"Wait!" The General cried, once he noticed the boy's hand reach out towards the pen. "T-There's still a chance they can be saved! Just because doctors don't believe they'll find a cure in time, doesn't mean they _won't_!"

That argument was _pathetic,_ and _everyone_ knew it _._

It was desperate plea made by a desperate man in a desperate attempt to protect those he cared about.

It was pointless, illogical and, frankly, quite cruel.

They were already dying, so why continue to prolong their suffering if there are means to soften their transition to the other side?

Sentiment.

 _That_ was why.

Sentiment and a fool's hope.

Two things young Mycroft Holmes decided to stand behind in this helpless situation, despite his mentor's teachings to do otherwise.

Because he knew that, had it been _his_ family…

He would have done the same.

So he prolonged the mass genocide for another few days, instructing the best doctors to abandon their researches, and work on the antidote.

' _You did the right thing._ ' Mycroft's heart told him.

But his mind, the biggest ally he's got, only whispered:

' _Oh Mycroft, Mycroft… Do you not realize what this mistake will cost you?_ '

He didn't care.

It mattered not at the moment.

All that mattered was that he didn't have innocent blood on his hands, that he could prevent.

He'd trust his heart this _one_ time.

* * *

' _Uncle Rudy...it happened again.'_

' _What did, boy?'_

' _I failed.'_

* * *

He's back here again.

Looking at the gray stone before him, flowers in hand and hollowness where his soul once resided.

He can't remember the last time he went home.

He can't seem to be able to leave this place...

He's haunting this grave like a ghost.

Mycroft snorted.

How ironic.

Though one might say he's simply returning the favor.

Those that died… who he sent though personal hell before their passing, had been haunting his dreams ever since he memorised their faces.

He didn't mind though...

It's not like he didn't deserve it.

He knew what would happen, it wasn't something he did out of stress and anxiety.

It was a fully conscious decision on his part.

He thought the gamble would pay off, that by postponing the massacre and giving the lab boys more time, the infected would have a chance of survival.

It would be a miserable life, filled with pain and expensive rehabilitation, but at least they'd be alive.

He acted out of compassion.

He acted human.

And it was that action that cost him his newly acquired position.

The Government doesn't need sentimental fools at it's wheels.

It needs people who will ** _do what needs to be done_**.

And if this was going to work, Mycroft cannot be a fool anymore.

He didn't know how to do that, though.

His teacher died before he could tell him the way to get rid of his instinctive 'caring'.

 ** _Do what needs to be done_.**

Those words echoed again and, for a second, Mycroft wondered.

Do those words hold the secret?

Do they show the way to becoming a vile, unfeeling monster able to sacrifice thousands to save millions, without batting an eye?

Was saying those words on his deathbed his mentor's way of guiding him through this dilemma?

Perhaps.

But alas, those are but mere guidelines. They tell you what mindset to be in when confronted with a decision that is going against your moral code: **_Do what needs to be done, regardless of it clashing with your moral compass, or not. There is more than one life on your shoulders._**

But they don't tell you what to do when the dust settles and you're forced to face the consequences of your actions.

Mycroft's stared at them now.

Each engraved name carrying more behind it. Family, friends... strangers just met earlier that day.

They're all suffering now...

And they can't even know the name of the man-boy-responsible for all that pain.

* * *

Mycroft stared and stared and stared...

Until his eyes burned.

* * *

This was supposed to be his life now.

Constant hard choices.

Constant weighting lives against lives. Which ones are worth protecting, which ones he can afford to sacrifice...

And the constant… crushing… guilt.

It consumed him, ripped him apart from the inside...

It hurt more than any physical wound ever could.

...

* * *

Mycroft shook his head sharply, hands squeezing into fists.

This needs to _stop_.

He cannot act like a sentimental buffoon every time he was faced with such a dilemma.

What was his job, if not making the hard choices and **_doing what needs to be done_**?

* * *

His hands shook.

* * *

There will be more cases like this… where, in order to protect his country, he'll have to play judge and executioner with the lives of innocent people.

He has been trained for this very thing, ever since he was six.

His hands were made to be covered by the blood of his people.

 _ **No sacrifice was deemed too great, when it came to the safety of Great Britain.**_

* * *

His vision got blurry.

Was he crying?

* * *

Rudy made _sure_ he knew what he was getting into… this wasn't a surprise revelation... It _shouldn't_ be affecting him as much as it did!

He… he had to get rid of those ' _feelings'_!

They were clouding his judgement, obscuring his logical thinking, making him _weak!_

* * *

Squeezing his fists so hard blood began dripping from the cut skin, he continued to glare at the massive tombstone before him.

* * *

Being human and compassionate already costed him more than he was willing to pay once...

He _cannot_ let this happen again.

* * *

Mycroft growled and kicked at the ground, angry at himself.

* * *

He already knew that.

All this thinking brought nothing new to the table.

Mycroft still doesn't know how to prevent himself from drowning in guilt with every mass murder he has to sign...

And his hands can't seem to stop shaking.

* * *

The boy cussed, shaking the tears away.

* * *

There was no solution, no clever trick, no way around it.

No matter how he looked at it… there was no way he could continue with this carrier.

He's...

Too human.

* * *

And that could have been the end of it...

The young boy would have been taken down from his government duty, until he grew old enough to perform admirably, and maybe, things wouldn't have ended the way they did.

But the world really needed the Iceman...

And, since the only person who could teach young Mycroft how to become one, was dead...

* * *

 _ **"All lives end, all hearts are broken..."**_

* * *

His mind decided to create its own.

* * *

Mycroft froze.

Someone was speaking.. .and yet there was no one at the cemetery besides himself.

" ** _Caring is not an advantage_**."

He turned around abruptly, sharp eyes seeking the one that spoke.

But there was nothing to find...

"W-Who are you?" The boy's voice shook despite his best efforts to hide it. "Where are you hiding?"

For a minute nothing responded, making the child fear for his own sanity, but then..

The voice spoke again.

" _ **You need not fear me, young one, for I am but a humble servant to your cause**_."

The voice didn't sound threatening, but emotionless and cold.

Like an ice statue.

"Why can't I see you, then?" Mycroft continued to look around, squinting his eyes to see better.

" ** _Do not strain your eyes so youngling, for you will not see me thanks to their use_**."

Mycroft frowned.

That didn't make sense...

"What do you mean?"

" ** _I am not a physical being, dear boy, nor am I present in your plane of existence."_**

"I don't understand..." The boy's head was beginning to hurt. "What are you then?"

" _ **Quod sum eris.**_ "

"..." Mycroft's breath hitched in his throat.

The translation wasn't difficult to obtain.

" ** _I am what you will be_**."

* * *

And just like that, the masterless student has acquired a teacher that will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Giving Mycroft the guidance and advice he needed, and quickly transforming the boy into the confident, strong-willed, no-nonsense leader England needed to survive.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly since Mycroft's return from the cemetery that one fateful day.

The decisions he made rarely ended in catastrophe, additional lives were no longer getting lost in the crossfire, and politicians were slowly learning that Rudolph Holmes's heir wasn't someone to be pushed around.

The Queen was happy.

The senators were happy.

And the Englishmen were satisfied.

But it all came with a price.

One far too internal for the naked eye to see.

For Mycroft's training was none to gentle.

* * *

It was a particularly difficult decision, one that crushed the poor boy under its proverbial weight.

He had no idea what to do, and time was running out.

" _ **Get up.**_ "

Came the cold response of his master.

" _I'm... trying_." And really, he was, but… he wasn't good at buffering his conscience yet.

It still screamed.

It still hurt.

It still _existed_.

 ** _"Not hard enough. Get up_**."

" _I can't._ "

The weight was too much.

 _All_ of this was too much.

And, by _God_ , it _hurt._

" ** _I don't recall giving you a choice. Get. Up_**."

" _I can't! I… I really can't!_ "

He struggled and pushed but to no avail.

The weight this time was too great.

" _ **I said Get. Up!**_ "

"I _already told you I can't_!" Why won't the man help?

" _ **You either get up on your feet… or everything around you, burns**_."

" _It's… too heavy. I… I can't do this on my own. You have to… help me_."

Admitting defeat.

Like a beaten dog with it's tail between its legs.

His master won't like this.

" ** _No._** " There it was, the disgust and disapproval.

He's going to have to deal with this on his own.

" _Why?_ "

" ** _If I were to help you now, you'll never stand on your own_**."

Logical. The student must rise above his weakness. No good will come from his teacher to keep on helping him.

" _I can… learn in time..._ " Though convincing him was near impossible, Mycroft had to try at least.

" ** _Rudy is_ dead _, boy._** " Came the harsh response. " _ **Time is the one thing you DON'T have."**_

Once again, his mentor was right.

The decision had to be made now.

"All lives end..." Mycroft echoed his mentor's words as his hands reached for the paperwork.

"All hearts are broken..." He read the paper again. Mission report. Asking whenever or not they should sacrifice fifty agents in a decoy operation in order to protect those who already got behind enemy lines.

Those people had families, friends, loved ones...

And he's sending them to their deaths.

" _Caring is not an advantage._ "

He gave the signed papers to his secretary, who immediately rushed to deliver his orders to the lead Agents.

His mentor hummed in approval.

The attack was a success. The double-agents secured, and the information obtained.

He knew he did what needed to be done.

By all acounts...he won.

And yet he still felt as if he had _lost_.


	12. Chapter 12

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 12

"Brave on, little boy, lost in a gray fog. How long will you remain such, before they realize you're not coming back?" pt.2

* * *

 _ **"And past that, the weight of all on you. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight. You are theirs.**_

 _ **It must be very hard. "**_

* * *

At first all that answered Cassandra's statement was utter silence.

Then… came the dreaded question.

"W-Whatever do you mean, 'there is nothing left for us to fix'?"

And after that...

The heartbreaking answer.

"Sherlock told you that Mycroft no longer sees you as members of his family." She leaned back in her seat. "Why should he listen to what you have to say?"

But Violet wasn't about to give up.

"That doesn't mean he can't be convinced otherwise!" Her eyes shined with hope that wasn't there before. "I'm sure his protective feelings for us can be rekindled if we try!"

But Cassandra only sighed and shook her head.

"I'm afraid that is just not possible, Ms. Holmes."

The couple blinked, their hope dwindling.

"What?"

"Think of Mycroft as a lizard being cornered by a natural predator." The former psychologist explained. "In order to protect itself, a lizard will lose its tail to distract the enemy so that it can get away." She then looked deep into the parents's eyes. "Mycroft's memories and emotional connection to you, is that tail." Her own brown eyes softened. "It will grow back but it won't be the same."

"What are you saying, Ms. Anders?" Siger's eyes were cloudy with unshed tears.

"I'm saying that Mycroft disposed of you. Took each and every memory and emotional connection, and overwrote them with fabricated ones. All to protect his already wounded heart." Cassandra's eyes shined with grief, for such a caring soul should not have been lost. "It is really a wonder that the change occurred nearly effortlessly, considering the circumstances? There was nothing but family loyalty bounding him to you… a connection so easily dealt with, so easily erased..."

"How?" Violet's voice quivered. "How was destroying every good memory and bonds, easy?"

"Is it not simpler to forget you had something, than to deal with the emptiness it left behind?" Cassandra asked. "That is exactly what your son did. Instead of grieving for the family he lost… he convinced himself it was never his to begin with." Her eyes peered at them somberly. "He thought himself dead to you, my dears. Can you really blame him for wanting to get rid of that pain?"

They stared at her silently, not knowing what to say.

Cassandra let them stew in that revelation, while she went to the kitchen to refill their teacups.

When she came back the couple was cuddling each other, seeking comfort in their embrace.

"Ms. Anders?" Violet's voice reached the elder lady's ears, soft and fearful. "Is there... really nothing we can do?"

Cassandra really wanted to say 'no'.

To tell them that their son can be saved, and restored to the man he was before.

But that would be a lie.

And she's not a liar.

"I'm afraid that is true." She answered solemnly. "After all… you cannot bring back something he doesn't remember having."

* * *

Emptiness.

That's what he sees when he looks into the eyes of the man reflected in the glass surface.

Utter emptiness.

He can't remember if they were always like that.

He can't even recall the last time he paid so much attention to his reflection.

It didn't matter.

Icy-blue eyes blinked back at him.

There were many words to describe those orbs.

Cold...

Emotionless...

Dead...

Soulless...

The list of similar descriptions was nearly endless.

But to him they were only one thing.

 _Free_.

* * *

 _The doctors lead the brown haired woman into the operating room._

* * *

Free of guilt.

Free of sentiment.

Free of _weakness_.

* * *

 _It's obvious she's already drugged, as she makes no move to resist when they lay her down on the table and cuff her arms and legs._

He can't show compassion.

He can't show mercy.

He can't show he _cares_.

* * *

 _The doctors put on their white gloves, shaky hands steadied by a sip of alcohol a few minutes before._

* * *

Could he still be considered human?

* * *

 _He might want to look into their little habit once this is over._

* * *

Maybe, maybe not.

It doesn't really matter.

* * *

 _He watches as the nurses gently shave off the woman's beautiful straight hair, and hook her right arm into an IV containing anesthetics._

* * *

Being human means being bendable.

Being human means having loved ones that can be killed.

Being human means having _weaknesses_.

* * *

 _His eyes followed the scalpel as it hovered over the woman's temple, inches away from touching skin._

 _Any second now… and it will begin._

* * *

He thinks about all this and comes to the conclusion that, he doesn't mind being a monster.

* * *

 _An unseen cue has been given, and the lead doctor sliced into the woman's porcelain skin over her temple._

 _A tiny voice in the back of his head tells him he should feel something._

 _He doesn't._

* * *

Why would he want to be human if, in order to win a war against monsters...

* * *

 _He stares blankly at the drop of blood flowing down the woman's cheek from the long cut._

 _His eyes followed as it passed her ear, landed on the silver table, and finally disappeared out of sight._

 _Empty._

 _He still feels empty._

* * *

One must become a monster himself.

* * *

AN: Yes, it's short. Yes, I'm working on a longer one. This is just a small appetizer. Alos, kudos to those who know where that quote came from and who said it.


	13. Chapter 13

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 13

"Watch Sherlock. Watch as he trembles. Watch as he crumbles. Watch as he ** _burns_**."

 _ **"Mayday! Mayday!**_

 _ **The ship is slowly sinking**_

 _ **They think I'm crazy but they don't know the feeling."**_

This has been a long time coming.

She watched it happen.

The fall of Mycroft Holmes.

Bit by bit, his armor crumbled under the blows he took for his family.

 ** _"They're all around me,_**

 ** _Circling like vultures_**

 ** _They wanna break me and wash away my colors_**

 ** _Wash away my colors"_**

But those weren't the problem.

He could take them.

It was the ones _they_ dished out, that were the most damaging.

They could insult him like he was the scum of the earth.

 ** _"Take me high and I'll sing_**

 ** _Oh you make everything okay (okay, okay)_**

 ** _We are one in the same_**

 ** _Oh you take all of the pain away (away, away)_**

 ** _Save me if I become_**

 ** _My demons"_**

They could rip into him like a pack of hungry wolves, and give no reason why.

They could use him when convenient, and then forget he exists until the next problem arrived.

Those wounds were _letha_ l, crippling... it took _days_ for him to get up from just _one_ of those injuries.

And he would _still_ let them hit.

 ** _"I cannot stop this sickness taking over_**

 ** _It takes control and drags me into nowhere_**

 ** _I need your help, I can't fight this forever_**

 ** _I know you're watching,_**

 ** _I can feel you out there."_**

He would let them because, in his eyes, he deserved nothing more.

At least… that was the case until a few days ago.

Now...

 _Now_ she's not even sure if he's the same man anymore.

 ** _"Take me high and I'll sing_**

 ** _Oh you make everything okay (okay, okay)_**

 ** _We are one in the same_**

 ** _Oh you take all of the pain away (away, away)_**

 ** _Save me if I become_**

 ** _My demons"_**

He _looked_ the same.

He _sounded_ the same.

But he didn't _feel_ the same.

The Mycroft Holmes she knew felt like the winter weather just before spring: Cold and unpleasant on the outside, yet warm and passionate underneath.

The Mycroft Holmes she worked with for the past couple of yearsdays was _nothing_ like that.

 ** _"Take me over the walls below_**

 ** _Fly forever_**

 ** _Don't let me go_**

 ** _I need a savior to heal my pain_**

 ** _When I become my worst enemy_**

 ** _The enemy."_**

He was less man, and more like the embodiment of the "Iceman" ideal.

Cold and aloof, while also dark and foreboding.

Everything her boss _couldn't_ be because of his compassionate heart.

But it seemed his family has finally beat it out of him.

 _ **"Take me high and I'll sing**_

 _ **you make everything okay**_

 _ **We are one in the same**_

 _ **you take all of the pain away."**_

He is now what they always saw him to be, and what he feared he would become since day one.

His greatest ally and yet also his greatest foe.

The _Iceman._

His mentor...

His confidant...

His _demon_.

" ** _Take me high and I'll sing_**

 ** _Oh you make everything okay (okay, okay)_**

 ** _We are one in the same_**

 ** _Oh you take all of the pain away (away, away)_**

 ** _Save me if I become_**

 ** _My demons."_**

* * *

She was going to show them.

Anthea is going to show Sherlock and his parents how much their eldest child has suffered. How utterly alone he was, living in a world where each decision he made could cost thousands of innocent lives if he wasn't careful.

How he beared the burden alone, hiding it all under a hardened mask, trying to appear strong to those he cared about. To make it easier for them to throw their own problems upon his all-too-eager shoulders.

Because that's what he was trained to do.

Solve problems.

Take the blame.

Protect the innocent.

Then fade away as if he never even existed, as an unrecognized hero.

Was it really too much to ask that they simply greet him with a smile, when he comes to visit?

Was it really too much to ask that they don't accuse him of being dishonest and needlessly cryptic, when it came to what he did for a living?

Was it really too much to ask for him to be loved with the same unconditional love his younger siblings received?

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.

He didn't _dare_ ask.

After all...

He deserved no less for what he's done, didn't he?

Anthea scoffed.

She'll show them.

She'll show them the CCTV footage he _never_ wanted them to see.

Where he is shown at the end of his rope.

Where he dared to question their motive and his belonging to their family.

Where he was the most… human.

She will show them what happened after their meeting regarding Eurus.

* * *

 ** _"Oh, dig my shallow grave_**

 ** _It's not me you'll save_**

 ** _'Cause I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _A lost, lost cause."_**

The door to his office snapped open and Mycroft Holmes barreled inside, slamming the door shut behind him, the recording shaking a little bit from the force of the blow.

Anthea in the motion picture looked up, startled, at her boss who was leaning heavily on the opposite wall.

She got up, the worry adoring her beautiful face could be seen even on the sandy recording.

"Sir?"

 ** _"Wait, all this time that I have spent away_**

 ** _Makes me think that I might be okay,_**

 ** _The kiss of death will have to wait_**

 ** _My head, is holding on to all those things you said_**

 ** _You taught me to be strong and get through it, the mist of darkness_**

 ** _In my head."_**

Her employer looked close to collapsing. Face pale, breathing heavy hands shaky and posture bent.

She walked up to him, slowly as if approaching a frightened animal.

"Mr. Holmes?" Anthea asked as she neared him. "Are you alright?" Her hand then reached out and gently rested on his shoulder.

At that the dam broke.

Mycroft took in a sharp breath and fell to his knees, his body shaking with tremors, and it was then that she realized he's crying.

 ** _"Oh, dig my shallow grave_**

 ** _It's not me you'll save_**

 ** _'Cause I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _A lost, lost cause."_**

"I… I can't take this anymore, Anthea. I just… can't. I _can't_!" The smooth commanding tones that usually adored Mycroft's voice were gone, not a trace left.

This was the most broken she ever saw him.

"What do you mean, Sir?" Anthea asked, trying to make her voice sound soft and comforting.

But Mycroft only buried his face in his knees, in a desperate attempt to hide his bitter tears.

"I thought I could take it. I thought I was strong enough to stand there and listen as they-" he cut himself off abruptly, then chuckled. "Oh who I was kidding, Anthea? I could never do that. Not with _them_."

"Who, Sir?" The PA's voice betrayed nothing, but it was clear she wasn't happy with what was being said.

He then looked up at her, icy-blue eyes filled with sadness and betrayal.

At that moment there was no Mycroft Holmes-Genius extraordinaire and Shadow king of England.

Only Mycroft Holmes-Little Boy who was sent to do a man's job.

"My parents." He whispered.

"They think I'm a _monster._ "

 ** _"It's not me you'll save_**

 ** _'Cause I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _A lost, lost cause."_**

"Why would you think so, Sir?" Anthea asked gently, squeezing the shoulder she came to hold.

He was shaking. By God how he was _shaking_.

"They know."

She froze.

"What?"

"Sherlock," she cussed. Of course it would be the ungrateful little shit that caused her boss such distress. "He… he found out. About Eurus. And… and then he told them."

Of _course_ he did.

"Then the meeting you were just in..."

Mycroft nodded slightly, head down and shoulders slumped.

"I thought… I thought I could explain myself, Anthea." He whispered, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I thought they would... _listen_. But..."

"They didn't." She finished for him, deep sorrow evident in her voice.

"No." He confirmed. "Not at all."

 ** _"Wait, no one said what's lost cannot be found_**

 ** _You are here to make it safe and sound,_**

 ** _Oh we, can make it, out alive_**

 ** _Fate, hath its way when all that's learned is sin_**

 ** _Nothing really matters in the end,_**

 ** _As long, as you, are with me, friend."_**

"I just don't understand, Anthea." Never in her life has she heard something quite so broken. "Why don't they love me the same way they love Sherlock or Eurus? What makes me so different? What did I do _wrong_?"

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just sat down on the floor next to him and rubbed his shoulders.

"It just seems that… no matter what I do, it will _never_ be enough for them. I… I could spend an entire day with them, pay their bills and finance medical care, and buy them an all-inclusive vacation in Florida… and they… they still wouldn't... wouldn't forgive me for whatever it is I did, to earn their scrutiny in the first place." He shook his head. "But Sherlock? He… he can _avoid_ them, _trick_ them, _curse_ at them… and they… they'd _still_ forgive him."

He swallowed.

"M-Maybe they subconsciously knew that I did something unthinkable?" Mycroft asked tentatively. "Maybe that's why… they hated me for so very long. They might have not known what I did _exactly_ but… it was enough. I suppose… now they have a reason to feel justified for acting so."

 ** _"Oh, dig my shallow grave_**

 ** _It's not me you'll save_**

 ** _'Cause I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _A lost, lost cause."_**

"Sir..."

"It's alright, Anthea." He cut her off before she could fully express her sympathy. "I… I deserve it. _All_ of it."

"No, sir. You don't." She argued anyway, pulling him closer.

"How can you say that, Anthea?" What was frightening is that her boss sounded _genuinely_ curious. "You _know_ the position I'm in. You _know_ what I am forced to do for the greater good." There were tears in his eyes. "You know they're not _wrong._ "

"Monsters don't _save_ people." Anthea objected desperately.

"Ah but they do many _other_ things, my dear." Mycroft responded in a hollow voice. "Most of which you will find littered in my MI6 files." He then smiled at her, a smile so hollow it made her heart ache. "There is no shortage of atrocities I have willingly committed, Anthea."

"You did them for the right reasons."

"That, unfortunately, doesn't make them any less _wrong_."

 ** _"No one can understand me_**

 ** _Like you can understand_**

 ** _No one can fill your shadow_**

 ** _'Cause you are all I am."_**

"Sir, you can't think like that."

"As much as I loathe to admit it, those are _facts_ , my dear." He chuckled then. The sound was heartbreaking. "Maybe me and Eurus aren't that different, after all?"

Anthea's face turned into a snarl.

"You are _nothing_ like her, Sir." She assured him, damning conveniences and pulling him into a hug. " _You_ did what you had to, to protect millions of innocent people. _She_ did it because she is a murderous psychopath."

"And yet, had the both of us fallen into a river..." He took a shaky breath and hugged her back with all his strength.

" _I'm_ not the one they would save."

 ** _"Oh, dig my shallow grave_**

 ** _It's not me you'll save_**

 ** _Cause I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _I'm a lost cause_**

 ** _A lost, lost cause"_**

* * *

Anthea walked up to the television and pressed a few more buttons to change the recording.

There was a few more she would like the present Holmes family to see.

* * *

 ** _"I dreamed I was missing, you were so scared_**

 ** _But no one would listen 'cause no one else cared_**

 ** _After my dreaming, I woke with this fear_**

 ** _What am I leaving when I'm done here?_**

 ** _So if you're asking me, I want you to know."_**

The date showed this recording was recorded exactly a day after the Eurus revelation. Mycroft and Anthea were sitting in their respective positions: him behind his large mahogany desk, and her near the door.

They were silent for the first couple of minutes, Mycroft organising an alarming amount of papers and Anthea looking through all his emails and deleting spam.

It was clear to all that they were dancing around the subject of what happened yesterday.

Mycroft: Because it was easier to just pretend nothing happened,

Anthea: Because, though she wanted to talk to her boss about everything that's been bothering him, there is only so much she can do without overstepping her boundaries.

Maybe they would have stayed that way for the rest of the day...

But then the ginger Holmes let out a long-suffering sigh, and rubbed his face with the his hands.

Anthea could be seen looking up from her blackberry.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Are… are you _afraid_ of me, Anthea?"

 ** _"When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done_**

 ** _Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed_**

 ** _And don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory_**

 ** _Leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest"_**

"Well, Sir..." The Personal Assistant considered her response. "Yes, and no."

Mycroft then looked at her, eyebrow raised and his gaze questioning.

"What do you mean?"

"I _am_ afraid of Mycroft Holmes the British Government." The woman explained. "I've seen what you're capable of when left no other choice, and why other countries are careful not to bring upon them your wrath. There is _no_ sight more terrifying to behold." She then smiled gently. "But I'm _not_ scared of Mycroft Holmes the Man."

Her boss snorted.

"Of course." Mycroft whispered. "How can you be afraid of something that doesn't exist?"

"Doesn't he, sir?" Anthea asked, her tone provocative. "I would disagree."

"Would you?" He looked doubtful, then shook his proud head. "The man you speak of... Mycroft the Man… he died a long time ago."

"Why would you say that, Sir?"

"There was… no room for him." Came the quiet response. "He was given a chance, and he failed to do what was right."

"I don't believe that, Sir." Anthea stood up and walked up to her Boss's desk. "I think he's still here. Doing his best to protect those he cares about."

"Then he's a _fool_." Mycroft's voice lowered to a growl. "One that gets carried away by his _emotions_ and _feelings_." He looked down, avoiding her gaze. "Doesn't he know they will _never_ accept him after what he's done? What he would do _again_ if the situation calls for it?" He was shaking now, Anthea sew it and her heart broke.

"Why doesn't he just _stop_ hoping?"

"Because sometimes… hope is all we have."

 ** _"Don't be afraid._**

 ** _I've taken my beating, I've shed but I'm me_**

 ** _I'm strong on the surface, not all the way through_**

 ** _I've never been perfect but neither have you_**

 ** _So if you're asking me, I want you to know."_**

"They're right to hate me..." Mycroft spoke softly, absentmindedly toying with a pen. "I don't really understand why you _don't_."

"Why would I hate you, sir?" she whispered, genuinely curious. "You haven't done anything worth hating you for."

"Look at the records. You'll find you are very much mistaken."

"That was Mycroft the Government." Anthea insisted. "I'm talking about Mycroft the Man."

"Then talk to my parents." He snorted, reaching for a whiskey bottle he kept hidden under his desk. "I'm sure they have a list of everything I ever did wrong, for you to read."

"Whatever they wrote can't be fair to you."

"It is in their eyes."

"Do they also keep a record of every good thing you did?"

He shook his head.

"No."

"Why?"

He chuckled.

"Maybe they don't remember, maybe they don't care." He twisted the cap of the bottle.

"Or maybe I haven't done enough good things to even _start_ a list."

 ** _"When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done_**

 ** _Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed_**

 ** _Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory_**

 ** _Leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest."_**

"Now that I cannot believe, sir."

"Hm? Why is that?"

"I've seen you do good things before, Sir."

"Ah but what you saw was Mycroft the Government." He smiled and wagged his finger at her. "What we're discussing is Mycroft the Man. Something I don't believe you had the _misfortune_ of meeting."

She smiled back.

"Oh but I _have_ , Sir."

"Really, now?" He took a long long sip and then wiped his face with his sleeve, completely ignoring proper decorum.

"Yes." Anthea noded.

"When?"

"Not too long ago, in fact." She pretended to polish her nails. "When he met up with those whose family members Eurus killed, and offered whatever help he could give."

She saw his hand tighten around the glass neck.

"I didn't do it to lessen _their_ burden." He lied. "I did it so that _I_ could feel less guilty."

That was a lie, and Anthea knew it.

When was the last time he did anything purely out of selfishness?

She didn't think _he_ remembered that ever occurring.

"You don't have to do this, Sir."

"Do what?"

"Lie to fit their description of you."

"It's not lying if I also think it's true."

 ** _"Forgetting all the hurt inside you've learned to hide so well_**

 ** _Pretending someone else can come and save me from myself_**

 ** _I can't be who you are"_**

"I don't believe you, Sir."

"Does it _matter_ , my dear?" He took another hefty swing of whiskey from his bottle. "It's not like we can exactly _tell_ my parents about how utterly ' _wonderful_ ' I was towards all those people."

"Why not?"

"Those families are under level 5 protection." Mycroft slurred, as if that explained everything. "My parents… don't have the clearance to know about them."

"I'm not trying to convince your parents you're not a bad person, Mr. Holmes."

"Then who _are_ you trying to convince?"

"You, Sir."

He laughed.

" _Me_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come now, my dear." He chuckled, his entire frame shaking. "Why would you want to do _that_?"

"Because it is unfair that, after everything you've done for them, they make you feel like an uncaring monster."

He looked up at her, eyes solemn and filled with an acceptance she never saw before.

He poured himself more whiskey and, then watched as the liquid slid across the glass.

"Though I appreciate the... sentient of such an action, it really is unwarranted."

"Why, sir? Why is it okay for you to believe you deserve the pain you get for doing the right thing?"

 _ **"When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done**_

 _ **Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed**_

 _ **Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory**_

 _ **Leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest."**_

"Oh, Anthea..." Mycroft shook his head. "You just don't _understand_..."

"Then please explain this to me, Sir. Because I _want_ to understand."

He sighed and poured himself another glass, even though his hands were shaking and his words slurring.

"This is what I was _meant_ to be. It's what I was _trained_ to do. My uncle has been preparing me for this since I was _six years old_ and I can't believe I-" he cut himself off with another shot.

"You can't believe _what_ , sir?" The PA pressed, once it was clear he wasn't going to continue this discussion on his own.

"...I simply can't believe I'm reacting to all that's happened, so harshly..." He stared into space, unblinking. "I... should be _ready_ for this. This… isn't something I wasn't aware could happen. I... specifically _planned_ for it to be this way, for it to be all _my_ fault in the end."

"Why, Sir?" Her eyes shined with a bit of hope. "Why did you arrange things to end up this way?"

"Because my parents don't _deserve_ to live with the terrible burden of having to lock up one of their children." He took another swing. "It's… it's better if they blame me... instead of themselves."

"Why? Why is it better, Sir?"

"Why?" He laughed. "Anthea I was _raised_ to be a _monster._ "

Mycroft then leaned in his chair.

"Why should _they_ suffer, when everything has been perfectly set up for _me_ to do so, instead?"

"You're _not_ a scapegoat, Sir." The PA insisted. "Your _just_ as much of their child as Sherlock and Eurus are. They should take responsibility for their parental shortcomings, not let you take it in their steed."

He smiled at her.

"Ah but you forget, my dear. I'm _not_ their child..."

His voice dropped to a whisper

"I'm the man who locked up their daughter, and told them she was dead."

"That was _Rudolph_ , not you."

"Ah but you see… they don't hate me for being the one who ' _started_ ' this."

He paused.

"They hate me for being the one who didn't have the _guts_ to put an _end_ to it."

 ** _"Forgetting all the hurt inside you've learned to hide so well_**

 ** _Pretending someone else can come and save me from myself_**

 ** _I can't be who you are_**

 ** _I can't be who you are"_**

* * *

AN: Well...here it is, fellas. The longer chapter I promised you lot, last time. Hope it's worth the wait.

All the songs belong to their respective creators: Imagine Dragons, Starset and Linkin Park. I am just using them to add more awesomness to my story :) (Pls don't sue ;-;)


	14. Chapter 14

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 14

"A hero's broken spirit, if not tended to properly, might grow into one of a true monster."

 _Mycroft is one, and is already perfectly capable of Reading on his own._

 _Mycroft is two, and filled out a crossword puzzle that his father has been stuck on._

 _Mycroft is three, and just won his first chess match against Siger._

 _Mycroft is four, and discusses philosophy with some of the best professors Oxford could offer._

 _Mycroft is five, and has mastered his second musical instrument: the piano._

 _Mycroft is six and tells his parents he wants to be an artist. Like Leonardo da Vinci._

 _Mycroft is seven, and has become the proud big brother of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes._

 _Mycroft is eight, and suddenly… he's a complete stranger._

 _He's been changed._

 _Reshaped._

 _Rewritten._

 _Remodeled._

 _Gone were his timid smiles when he won against his father in chess._

 _Gone were the passionate discussions about topics he should have no knowledge about._

 _Gone was that sparkle in his sharp icy-blue eyes, when he mastered another instrument._

 _Gone were the pretty pictures he doodled during a break in his preschool._

 _Gone was his desire to be an artist._

 _Gone… was the Mycroft she loved._

 _Instead, the Stranger locks himself in her son's room with countless law and politic-related books, and refuses to come out to anything unrelated to dinner._

 _If he wasn't there, he was out spending "quality time" with her older brother, Rudolph._

 _He was home but never **home**._

 _It wouldn't be so bad if… if he hadn't started to deteriorate._

 _He stopped eating properly leaving 90% of his meal on the plate, started sleeping less and disappearing during late hours of the night, chased out of his home by the shrill of a phone._

 _His skin, already pale, was turning paler with every day as this sickness continued to leech away at the little boy's health._

 _But, as the skin around his face grew more porcelain in color, the one under his eyes grew ever darker with each all-nighter he pulled._

 _And that was before the nightmares began._

 _One day, on the day of his eight birthday, the Stranger came home looking pale as a ghost._

 _Hugging himself and shaking the entire time Rudolph gently carried him into their home, silent tears tickling down his pale cheeks._

 _Her brother refused to tell her what happened._

 _He only said it was necessary, if a bit cruel on his part._

 _"It will give him strength for what awaits him in the future." He said, ever cryptic._

 _He never told her what exactly the Stranger had to be so ready for._

 _That night… the screams began._

 _The Stranger wailed in his sleeps, using her son's voice as he cried._

 _He pleaded for his uncle to **not** do it, that there **had** to be another way._

 _But whatever he was trying to prevent happened anyway, giving segue to the surprised yelp that will be heard echoing down the hallway for years to come._

 _It made her wonder what her brother exposed her eldest to, to make him scream like that._

 _She didn't have time to calm him though… those nightmare terrors always woke her other children, ones that needed her care more than the Stranger did._

 _Siger tried to help._

 _It didn't bring lasting effects._

 _After one peaceful night, the screaming returned with double the intensity._

 _The Stranger didn't let himself be comforted after that._

 _He barely even spent time with anyone once the nightmares started._

 _He ignored his baby brother, claiming to have a lot more important things to focus on than playing with him._

 _When she confronted him about it and demanded he tell her what those "other things" are, he said he couldn't tell. That it was classified._

 _He refused to say anything more,_

 _She watched him, the Stranger in her boy's body, as he grew._

 _Changing more and more from the smiling eight-year-old Mycroft she remembered._

 _His eyes that once could lighten up an entire room with their light, were filled with a darkness that shouldn't occupy the orbs of a young child._

 _The Stranger in her child's body saw something that snuffed out all his innocence._

 _It **scared** her._

 _She stopped looking him in the eyes when he talked to her._

 _His face never smiled anymore._

 _It was always a blank look, revealing nothing of the emotions he felt._

 _She remembered when that same face used to be an open book to whoever looked at it._

 _Now… now she wasn't sure he even knew how to **emote** , anymore._

 _She never thought there would be a day when she missed the constant childish bickering between her two sons._

 _But their lack was breaking her heart more than she could ever admit._

 _Because the Stranger never argued, never fought for what was his, never even complained._

 _Not even when Sherlock destroyed his favorite chess board in a fit of irritation._

 _The Stranger just… blinked at the broken wood, and walked away._

 _Not saying a thing._

 _It was as if someone sucked out all the humanity out of him, and left nothing but an empty husk._

 _Rudolph was changing him into a monster._

 _And she **let** it happen._

 _Because it was easier to just ignore the problem, than deal with it._

 _She had two other children to take care of, after all._

 _Sherlock and Eurus needed her, so she focused on them..._

 _And tried to ignore the empty eyes of the Stranger in her eldest's body, as she turned her back on him._

 _Leaving him at the mercy of Rudolph Holmes and his plans._

* * *

Violet shook her head at the paused recording on the screen, eyes teary and shaky hand reaching out to the broken man on the video before her.

"Oh Mycroft..." Her voice broke. "What have I _done_?"

"A lot of things you shouldn't." Cassandra said nodding to Anthea who retreated to stand besides her, she wasn't going to be merciful. Not to these people. Not after what they put poor Mycroft through. "As well as 'nothing' in situations when one would typically warrant taking serious action."

Violet shook her head, tears still flowing and steely eyes focused on the man on the paused screen.

"Had I known..."

"It was right there, in the very open." The psychologist narrowed her wise eyes. "The signs of suffering have been there from the very beginning, you cannot tell me you haven't seen them at the earliest stage. Your son didn't have the necessary control to cover them up properly." She shook her head. "No… you must have known something terrible was happening, but… for whatever reason, chose to ignore it..." She leaned back, her body easily slipping into the position she usually took while listening to a patient. "Why? Why ignore the silent pleas for help, when it clear vocalisation of said pleas is not an option?" She folded her hands over her stomach as her eyes watched the younger woman. "Why didn't you help your son?"

Violet didn't look away from the screen as she answered.

"It… was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

Cassandra's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Sacrifice?"

"If I took Mycroft from him." The mother hissed. "He… he might have gone after Sherlock and Eurus next. God knows what he would have done to them. With Sherlock's unresponsiveness to authority, and Eurus's unpredictability, he might have restored to-" She shook the through away "I… I _had_ to protect them."

"So, in order to save the remaining children… you allowed him to have the one with the trap's teeth already imbedded in his flesh."

The Holmes mother looked away from the screen then, as if not being able to look Mycroft in the eyes even if it's just a frozen recording of him.

"...It was for the best."

"A… necessary evil, you mean?" The psychologist asked.

"Better one than three."

Cassandra frowned.

"Is 'none' not an option?"

"Not with my brother, it wasn't." Violet shook her head. "If he wanted something, he was going to get it. One way or another."

Ms. Anders sighed.

"What your brother wanted was an heir to his proverbial throne." She shook her head. "Both Sherlock and Eurus do not possess the proper qualities to rule a kingdom from the shadows."

"I know that now but… back then..."

"Back then you _still_ saw that whatever Rudolph was doing to Mycroft, was taking away his identity. Destroying the person he was and turning him into someone better suited for your older brother's goal." Cassandra's eye narrowed even more. "Why didn't you _do_ anything?"

"..." The Holmes parent sat silently for a second. "He never said anything about wanting it to stop." She swallowed thickly. "I thought he wanted whatever Rudy was preparing him for."

"You're Implying that an eight-year-old boy can object to his guardian's wishes." The psychologist shook her wise head. "No. Choice is something your eldest never had the privilege of having. At least not when it comes to his personal life."

"Maybe Mycroft couldn't back out of it then, when he was a child." Violet's eyes sparked with determination as she finally turned to face Ms. Anders. "But what about when he got older? Why didn't he leave then?"

Cassandra gave the woman a pitying look.

" _When_ , Ms. Holmes? Your brother died a day before Mycroft's nineteenth birthday, and your son has been pushed into his position before his body had the chance to cool." She shook her head. "By the time he was old enough to potentially step away, your brother was... assassinated, and that door has been shut for good."

"..."

Violet went quiet.

"So you see, Ms. Holmes." Cassandra sighed. "Your son had no choice but to become what he was trained to be."

"Was there truly no one else?" Siger's small voice asked, from his spot besides his wife. "Was Mycroft really the only one who could take Rudolph's place?"

Cassandra turned to him, noticing how the way he was sitting made him look smaller than he really was.

"He was the only one both chosen by and well versed in Rudolph's ways of leading a country." Anthea answered, leaning against the wall. "He may not have been the only one capable of taking the position, but he was the _best_ candidate."

"Oh..." Siger fell silent after that, staring at his hands helplessly.

Cassandra sighed.

"There is much you have to atone for, my dears."

"Y-You said it's too late." Violet looked up.

"It is." Cassandra confirmed. "But you still don't know the full extent of your parental failure." She leaned back.

"Otherwise you'll never know why your son was forced into the state he is in today."


	15. Chapter 15

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 15

"Secrets taken to the grave."

Sherlock couldn't sleep.

Everything that has happened during the last few days, chased the notion of rest away from the Detective's eyes.

All he could think about...

Was his brother.

About how he suffered through their shared life.

About how no one did anything to help him when he clearly needed it.

About how he did nothing but be an enormous brat nearly all their shared life.

But more importantly...

About the person responsible for all this.

Uncle Rudolph Holmes.

He was the one who ruined their family with his deception and constant lies.

He told them all Eurus was dead.

He took an innocent little boy and molded him into a monster.

He made sure their parents never knew when Mycroft really took his place as the Shadow King of England.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

There is no telling what else he lied about.

Sherlock frowned, the thought buzzing around in his head, as he tossed and turned in bed.

...

There is no way he's going to sleep with all these questions left unanswered.

He got up.

It was time to get some answers.

Sherlock effortlessly navigated through the dark bedroom, reaching his wardrobe with almost mechanical ease and pulling out a random set of clothes.

His biological clock told him it's about 2:00 a.m in the morning.

It's not like anyone will be awake to judge his taste in attire.

A few minutes later he's dressed and quietly making his way down the stairs. No reason for John and Ms. Hudson to be awake at this hour.

As much as he usually enjoys his blogger's company during cases, this is something he has to take care of alone.

* * *

One long ride via taxi and the young Detective was standing in front of an abandoned building.

Sherlock glared at the doorknob, which was dusty from years of unuse.

Behind it was the home of his late uncle Rudolph Holmes, the fortress in which he planned all his schemes.

Sherlock would go for the man's office but that has been thoroughly remodeled after Mycroft took possession of it.

If there was anything to find in that office, his older brother's men have already disposed of it a long time ago.

So here Sherlock was, about to break into a dead man's home.

It felt like he was about to graverob his uncle's tomb.

Shaking the thought away, the curly-haired servant of the law kneeled and began working on the lock.

Once the poor old rusty thing finally gave way to his forceful unlocking, Sherlock was allowed in.

The door swung open with a shrill, a cloud of dust hitting the detective square on the face.

Sherlock coughed a few times before entering the room.

It was dark, gloomy and covered in layers upon layers of dust.

He walked through the long empty hallways, ignoring the rooms that weren't the study.

After being unable able to find the office on the lower level, Sherlock decided to go upstairs.

He didn't have to look long after that. His uncle's personal office was the first room to the right, immediately next to the stairs.

Without a second thought Sherlock burst through the simple, wooden door and began searching for something that could be connected to his brother.

There will be no more secrets in this family.

* * *

' _There..._ ' Sherlock fell to his knees, his entire body covered in dust. ' _There is nothing here..._ '

He spent four straight hours trying to find something but...

There was nothing.

Nothing at all.

The Detective looked down at the folders laying before him on the floor, his vision going blurry from the tears of frustration that were building up.

' _This..._ ' He started shaking. ' _This isn't possible..._ ' His hands curled into fists. ' _There has to be SOMETHING!_ '

He should have expected this.

He should have figured the secret leader of an entire nation, would not leave any important information laying around for people to find.

Even if it's in the comfort of his own home, Rudy would not allow sensitive information to be anywhere but in a secure place.

And yet he still came here.

He still searched the room.

He still hoped.

...

He was a fool.

Sherlock felt his resolve falter, his anger giving in to despair.

Momentarily he was that little boy whose brother refused to play with him for the third time in just as many days, with no good reason.

Sherlock hissed and then hit the wooden floor below him, wishing for something to be punished for his failure.

Then… a miracle happened.

Instead of withstanding the Detective's punch, the floorboard actually cracked under the pressure revealing an empty space beneath it.

And that meant hidden compartment.

Startled by the sound of wood breaking, Sherlock's head instantly turned towards his hand, his eyes widened at what he discovered.

It was a book.

Or, more precisely...

A journal.

Rudolph's journal.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't believe his luck, as he scanned through the pages of the newly discovered source of untapped knowledge.

This simple book contained insight into the mind of the most mysterious and secretive person, the poor Detective had the misfortune of knowing.

So Holmes flipped the pages, reading about his uncle's thoughts about many interesting subjects, many secrets he had covered up through the years.

But, as interesting as this was, it wasn't anything about their family so he forced himself to stop reading, and skip ahead to around the time Mycroft was born.

There had to be something about him there.

And indeed there was.

Just not the kind of something Sherlock expected...

* * *

Monday

 _The situation with the Russians is slowly getting out of hand, despite my continued efforts._

 _Their president showcases much boldness for someone who risks going against an entire union if things slip out of control._

 _That leads me to believe that he has something up his sleeve, which he can hold over our heads to prevent a global intervention on whatever it is he's hiding._

 _This idea worries me greatly._

 _A team must be dispatched to retrieve this hidden "Ace", whatever it might be._

Tuesday

 _Choosing the right man to take on the leading role in the retrieval mission, proved to be more taxing than I anticipated. Our top agents are all with their hands full:_

 _Agent "Troy" is busy negotiating in Hong Kong, "Melinda" is in the middle of a reconnaissance mission in Denmark, and "Horatio" is on sick leave. The rest are all on errands from Lady Smallwood._

 _This does not leave me with a lot of options to choose from._

 _I would normally not do this, especially since he still didn't recover fully from his last mission, but the present situation forces my hand._

 _I'm sending agent "Alekai" to Russia._

* * *

Sherlock isn't sure why this is significant, but the agent's codename imbedded itself in his brain.

His gut tells him that this man is somehow important.

He skips a few more pages.

* * *

Wednesday

 _The fool._

 _The Utterly Foolish fool._

 _I cannot believe he was moronic enough to actually go through with this, I cannot believe he managed to keep this a secret for so long without blowing his cover, I cannot believe nobody noticed anything._

 _He played us._

 _All of us._

 _Hid in plain sight._

 _We underestimated him._

 _I am unsure who the real fools are, anymore._

 _Oh, "Alekai"... why did you do this?_

 _How could you make such a rookie mistake?_

 _Wasn't this the first thing we taught you not to do?_

 _Did you know this endeavor could end up in tragedy, when you spoke your eternal vows?_

 _Of course you knew._

 _Otherwise you wouldn't go to such lengths to make sure we don't find out._

 _Oh, "Alekai"..._

 _For your wife's sake, I hope you return in one piece._

 _She's due soon._

* * *

Sherlock's head spinned.

What was the meaning of this?

Why is his uncle so focused on this one agent? Why is there nothing about his mother and the fact that she's about to give birth to his first son?

Something is not right.

The Detective was almost afraid to read what happens next.

' _It's for Mycroft._ ' He thought to himself when his finger faltered. ' _You're doing this for him._ '

The pages turned.

It took a few turns but he finally found something that discussed the agent.

* * *

Friday

 _You should have known this would end this way, Agent "Alekai"._

 _You shouldn't have fallen for a trap as common as caring._

 _You knew the risk when you put that ring around the woman's finger._

 _People like us don't get a happy ending, dear friend._

 _As I stood next to your dying wife and newborn son, I thought about how neither of them deserved this._

 _Your wife deserved a husband who was there for her and your child, on a daily basis._

 _Your son deserved to grow up with a father figure watching over his steps, as he grew._

 _They both deserved so much more than what you could offer, "Alekai"._

 _She held on, do you know that, agent?_

 _She tried so hard to be there when you came but… human resilience can only do so much._

 _The doctors did not know what exactly happened to cause her death, and, even if they have known beforehand, it was too little too late to save her._

 _But the boy was safe._

 _Whatever took the life of his mother, didn't spread to him._

 _Thank the Lord for small mercies._

 _If he's anything like you, agent, he's going to grow up big and strong._

 _It's a pity you won't be around to see it._

 _But at least you were there so say goodbye to your family._

 _I am actually surprised you managed to come back from Russia, at all._

 _Especially when Agent "C" notified me about your poisoning._

 _You ran over to the hospital, desperately trying to be there before your "love" made her last travel to the morgue, ignoring the risks to your own health._

 _This is why we ban our agents from having relationships, "Alekai"._

 _Because emotions prevent people from thinking logically._

 _Had you not acted like a fool in love and ran to the hospital, spreading the poison inside your body further, maybe your son would still have a father._

 _At least you managed to hold him before the toxin claimed your life._

 _(There is a large part of the text scribbled over)_

 _Wherever you are now "Alekai", you need not worry about your unnamed child._

 _I made sure he is in good hands now._

 _I placed him in the care of a trusted couple that haven't been able to have their own children._

 _I'll be able to look after him in your place, and maybe someday, if fate is willing, he'll be a valued servant of our society just like you once were._

 _Worry not, dear friend._

 _I'll make sure young Mycroft Holmes doesn't make the same mistakes you did._

* * *

Sherlock dropped the book.

* * *

AN: Hi! JulieArchery here! I'd like to take this moment to thank all the people who review each and every chapter of this story. Especially people like "epiffanylee" and "Guest E". It means a lot to me that you care enough about this little project to take time out of your busy lives, and write such encouraging and long reviews :)

You all are the absolute best!

Yours truly

Julie


	16. Chapter 16

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 16

"Legend of Alekai."

Lady Smallwood couldn't say she was surprised when Sherlock Holmes appeared on her front porch in the middle of the night, demanding she talk to him about his brother.

She was surprised however, when he demanded to be told about "Alekai".

"How do you know that name?" Alicia's voice was a dangerous whisper among the nightly songs of the crickets.

"You may say the dead spoke to me." The Detective answered, and Smallwood couldn't tell if he's serious or not. "I know the truth, Elisabeth." He let himself in. "Now please… tell me the entire story."

I want to know why Uncle Rudy didn't want Mycroft to find out who his real father was.

Went unsaid, but Alicia still heard it.

She sighed heavily, knowing that this day would come eventually.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

Sherlock frowned, unhappy hearing that.

"But… you were mentioned by Rudolph himself!"

She chuckled.

"Not me, little Detective." Alicia shook her head. "But my mother."

* * *

Soon both she and Sherlock were in an old people's home, waiting to be allowed entry to room 456.

Where all the answers await.

"There we go… all the formalities taken care of." The nurse smiled at them, though only Lady Smallwood smiled back. "Now... You are ready to see Eunice Smallwood. Though I must warn you that she has been acting quite strangely for the past couple of weeks."

"It is quite alright." Alicia assured her. "I am fully capable of handling my mother's moods, dear. No need to be worried."

The nurse didn't look convinced, but led them towards the proper room anyway.

After going through a rather long, white colored hallway they finally reached the proper door.

"There we are." The nurse nodded, unlocking the door. "Be careful in there, alright?" She couldn't help but warn them. Sherlock could see the concern and fear in her green eyes. The woman he and Lady Smallwood were about to visit, seemed to be more dangerous than an usual lady over sixty should be.

"No worries, dear." Alicia repeated herself with a patient smile, which served as a painful reminder of what Mycroft used to be. Endlessly patient, professional and in control.

Now...

He's just… cold.

The nurse nodded and opened the door for him and Lady Smallwood.

What lay beyond it… was a simple room with an elderly woman sitting in a rocking chair, knitting something that looked like a red scarf.

"Oh, hello." The woman said, when the door closed. "Are you part of the new staff?" Eunice, Sherlock believed her name was, asked, amber eyes crinkling with mirth.

The question made the Detective flinch.

It looked like this poor woman's mind was already swallowed by dementia, as she couldn't even recognize her own daughter.

Was this some sort of punishment?

Was Lady Smallwood trying to rub salt into his open wounds, by reminding him that the same thing happened to Mycroft?

That his careless actions didn't just cost him his brother, but also took away one of her dearest friends.

' _ **I'm not lonely, Sherlock**_.' His brother's words, said not that long ago though to Sherlock it felt like a lifetime ago.

'I _t seems you really weren't, brother-dear._ '

Mycroft maybe didn't consider them anything more than work colleagues, but it was clear to Sherlock that Anthea and Lady Smallwood thought themselves as his friends for a long time now.

He couldn't help but feel responsible for Mycroft no longer being the man they once admired.

"You may drop the pretence, mother." Alicia's stern voice pulled him out of the downward spiral he was heading for. "He's here to learn about 'Alekai'."

Immediately, in response to the words, the kind looking elderly woman transformed before the Detective's eyes.

The soft mirth in her eyes, was replaced with steely determination.

The hunchbacked figure straightened up to a pose resembling that of Alicia's back in the office.

Even her voice sounded younger without the typical grandma tone.

Sherlock blinked, shocked that his deduction powers didn't see past her disguise, while Eunice looked him up and down from between narrowed eyebrows.

"This isn't his child." The elder Smallwood finally announced, amber eyes staring deep into Sherlock blue ones. "He looks nothing like him."

"No." Alicia agreed.

"Then how does he know about him, Alicia?" There was obvious scorn in her tone. "Only a selected few were to be aware of his existence."

"He's the boy's adoptive brother, mother."

Eunice's eyebrow rose questionably.

"Rudolph's nephew?"

"Yes. Violet's eldest."

That title stung.

More than it would have a couple of years ago.

Eunice hummed in thought.

"You must be Sherlock then."

He nodded.

"Yes."

"Tell me, boy, how do you know about Agent 'Alekai'?" She leaned back in her rocking chair. "I doubt Rudolph told you about this little secret."

"You're right, Mrs. Smallwood." He nodded again. "Me and Uncle Rudy were never close. He preferred to hang out with Mycroft, barely even acknowledging me and Eurus at all." He shrugged. "I only know about… the secret due to the journal I found in his abandoned home."

"So he didn't burn it after all." Eunice shook her head. "The poor sentimental old fool..."

The Detective didn't know how to respond to that.

Rudolph Holmes never struck him as someone he could call 'sentimental'.

Then again… neither was Mycroft.

Both of them hid their hearts under coats of ice.

Now one is dead, and the other is… lost.

"Does the boy, Mycroft, know about this?" Eunice asked.

Alicia shook her head sadly.

"No. He doesn't."

"Good." Amber eyes narrowed. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

"But why?" Sherlock asked, before Lady Smallwood could answer. "Why can't Mycroft know about his real father?"

Eunice looked him deep in the eyes then.

Despite having the color of fire there was no warmth to be found in them.

"Maybe you should tell him the story from the beginning, mother." Alicia interjected before the elder Smallwood could answer. "He'll understand more if you explain everything clearly."

There was silence for a very long time before the elderly woman finally sighed and nodded.

"Very well." She turned around and patted the pillow behind her. "Settle down children. This might take a while."

* * *

"Perhaps I should explain who agent 'Alekai' was as a person." She smiled then, eyes gaining a far away look as if she was remembering a much happier time. "His real name was Duncan. Duncan Hawk. And he was a really close friend of mine." Eunice then blinked and pulled out what looked like a photograph. It was wrinkled, yellow with age and Sherlock could swear he saw a few tear stains on the edge.

She smoothed it out with great care evident in her movements, before placing it before him.

It depicted a person sitting in what seemed to be a med center.

Said person immediately caught Sherlock's attention.

And why wouldn't he?

The man looked almost exactly like Mycroft.

With the exception of his dark brown hair, beard, and greater height, there was no visible difference between him and his brother.

'This must be him.' Holmes thought, brain drinking in all the details it could. 'Agent Alekai''.

He was grinning sheepishly in the photograph, right hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck, despite it being covered in bandages.

Sherlock noticed that his hand wasn't the only thing covered in gauze and Band-Aids.

"He was a real fighter, that one." Eunice chuckled. "Addicted to the smell of battle, he called it, the fool." She shook her head fondly. "There was never a time when he was not covered up by some sort of bandage, he got into brawls so much. _Worried I'd get sloppy_ , he said whenever someone asked why. _Plus, how else am I supposed to test if my fellow agents are ready for missions?_ " She paused for a second. "He might have been reckless and had no regard for his own safety… but you wouldn't find a better man among our field agents. His loyalty burned like the sun, his physical powers vastly outshined that of his peers, and his immense experience made 'Alekai' the agent you called upon when you expected results." Eunice sighed. "There was one thing that you needed to be weary of, however, when assigning him to missions." She rocked back and forth in a futile attempt to distract herself from the memories flooding her mind. "And that… was his immense hatred for Russians. He never told anyone why he despised them so, but whenever they were involved he immediately got aggressive and very violent." She sighed sadly. "At first Rudy saw that as an advantage, that at least he won't be switching sides and going easy on them during questioning. But… as reports from his first information gathering mission in Siberia reached his office… we realized that sending him might have been a mistake." She shivered. "None of the Russians survived the onslaught. And the building he infiltrated was lost to an explosion." Eunice toyed with her scarf. "After that he only went on a mission to Russia once more. A mission that ultimately… led to his demise."

Sherlock kept silent, staring at the man in the picture.

"You feel responsible." He stated, not looking up.

"How can I not, Holmes boy?" Eunice's voice was filled with anguish. "Rudy may have been the one who signed the papers, but I had the power to stop him." She shook her head. "I may not have known about his marriage and impending fatherhood, but I could see that something was different about Alekai." The elder Smallwood lowered her head. "I should have done something, convinced Rudy to send someone else because Hawk was injured, make him postpone the mission until he's fully healed if he absolutely must send him, just… _something_."

Sherlock remained silent.

He remembered what Rudy wrote in his journal.

That he had no choice but to send 'Alekai' to Russia, as no one qualified was available.

Despite knowing that he knew, nothing he could say could ease the woman's guilt of being partly responsible for a good friend's death.

So instead of letting her dwell in those thoughts, the Detective decided to change the topic.

"I don't see how that explains why Mycroft is not allowed to know about his real father."

She looked up at him and sighed.

"That… is another matter altogether, I'm afraid." Eunice leaned back in her seat once more. "Since you read Rudy's journal I assume you know of Alekai's deception."

He nodded his head in confirmation.

"Very well then." Relief could be heard in her voice from not having to talk about the tragic death of a friend. "Despite what he might have written in that notebook of his, Mycroft's placement in your family's care was not something done immediately." Sherlock's eyebrow rose. "The both of us sat in Rudolph's office for many days debating whether raising Duncan's son in a normal family unit would benefit us once he follows in his father's footsteps, while the boy was under the care of nurses."

"You already assumed he would be an agent when he grew up?" Holmes whispered. "What if he wanted to be something else?"

"Alekai was a servant of the United Kingdom in mind, body and soul." Eunice responded mechanically. "We could find no better way to honor his memory than training his offspring to be as much of an asset to his country as possible."

Asset.

That's all Mycroft was to them.

An _asset_.

A replacement for his father.

They didn't even think of him as a person.

His life was theirs to command how they see fit.

But what was truly _sickening_ , was the realisation that...

That's all he was to his adoptive family, too...


	17. Chapter 17

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 17

"Legend of Alekai."

"We thought it would be for the best, you see." Eunice continued. "The boy had no family to be left with, as Duncan himself came from an orphanage and his wife had cut all ties to her family, but we couldn't very well put him in a home that wouldn't treat our dear friend's son properly." She drank a bit of tea from the mug a nurse brought on a tray a while back. "We wanted to do what we could to ensure he had a secured future, while also having the ability to watch over him." She then looked deep into Sherlock's eyes. "You can see why giving him a place among our agents would be an optimal choice."

Sherlock said nothing.

So the elder Smallwood went on.

"You need to understand that we wanted to kill two birds with one stone." She explained softly. "Give the boy a happy life, while also gaining back what we lost with his father's death."

Sherlock's grip tightened on his own cup, but otherwise he said nothing.

"The biggest question was where to place him. Should we even let him experience what it's like to live in normal family, if he's going to be a member of MI5? Wouldn't that give him weak points our enemies could expose and use against him? Would that make him less likely to perform... certain missions for us?" She shook her head. "There were many points against it, as you might imagine. Had we adhered to them you wouldn't have an older brother, Holmes boy."

The Detective nodded, still silent.

"Then how did he end up in your mother's care, you may ask. Well… Rudy realized that, if we gave little Mycroft no reason to care about anything that's inside his country… he might become a double-edged sword." Eunice took another sip and rocked gently on her chair. "We had no guarantee that he would inherit Duncan's loyalty towards his country-"

"So you were worried he'd betray you the first chance he got." Sherlock cut her off, finally deciding to talk after being silent. "That anyone with an offer of more money could pull him to their side and use his knowledge to compromise your entire agency."

Eunice looked at him, then took in his deflated posture, his slumped shoulders and the sadness in his eyes...

It made her wonder if Duncan would approve of what she and Rudy put his child through.

While she likes to think he would… her heart knows he wouldn't.

She then nodded, confirming what he said to be true.

"That's when Rudy suggested giving him to your parents, as they were seemingly unable to produce their own offspring despite really wanting to have children." She fiddled with her scarf. "It was to ensure that Mycroft was going to be raised in a family that loved and cared for him with all their hearts, while also providing us with a way to keep an eye on him."

Sherlock looked into his cup.

The tea has gone cold to the touch despite him holding it in his hands.

Perhaps the room was chilly...

Or maybe his hands were just cold.

"As you may conclude" Eunice's voice pulled him out of thought. "Our plans changed once your adoptive brother began showcasing a level of intelligence that, not only caught up with that of Duncan, but massively surpassed him."

"Is" Sherlock swallowed thickly. "Is that when uncle Rudy decided to make him his heir?"

Eunice laughed.

"Indeed." Her Amber eyes crinkled with mirth. "The thought first crossed our minds when one day Rudolph came to work with a drawing, saying he was visiting his sister to check up on a four-year-old Mycroft." She smiled fondly. "He gave me the picture saying that little Mycroft drew it and told him to give it to his "blonde lady friend"." She laughed, probably remembering Rudy's face as he said those words. "Both of us were quite stumped as to how he even found out about me, I never visited you see, as well as how he could draw me so surprisingly accurately without ever having met me."

"Deduction." The Detective replied, looking up. "He deduced your existence from the clues left on Uncle Rudy's personage." He shrugged. "He was the one who taught me how to do it. I assume he was either showed the technique by uncle, or he figured out how to do it on his own."

Eunice nodded her wise head.

"That appears to be the case." She confirmed.

"I still do not understand one thing." He looked deep into her eyes. "Rudy watched Mycroft as he grew up, he must have realized he's much too sensitive to ruthlessly rule a nation. He wanted to be an artist, for God's sake!"

"Ah yes." Eunice took his little outburst in a stride. "We have noticed that, though resembling Duncan greatly, personality wise your brother leaned more towards that of his mother, who was a nurse 'Alekai' met while injured. He was kind, caring and had a love for arts. Qualities unsuited for being the Leader of the United Kingdom."

"Then why-"

"Let me finish." She chastised gently. "Those characteristics, as well as his blue eyes and red hair, are not the only things Mycroft inherited from her."

"What are you talking about?"

"The one thing that made him so good at his job in the first place, little Detective." She smiled sadly. "His strong sense of Duty."

 _ **"Someone has to do what needs to be done, Brother-dear."**_ Mycroft's voice from long ago, echoed in Sherlock's mind. ** _"No matter how hard it is, or how much it hurts."_**

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes." The Detective said, slowly. "It's… always been more of a curse than a blessing..."

Eunice nodded.

"It's commendable that he back away from his responsibilities when things turn unfavorable."

"He would never." Sherlock shook his head. "His honor and pride would not let him run away."

'That's why he stayed and took the blow, when I exposed him to my parents...'

Eunice nodded again, placing her empty mug on the nightstand to the right of her bed.

"That, along with his intelligence, made him the perfect candidate for Rudy's position." She shifted in her seat, letting her uneasiness show. "He just… needed to get rid of Mycroft's-"

"Caring." Sherlock cut in, voice emotionless. "He needed to get rid of his heart."

"...I was going to put it more sensitivity, but I suppose your terminology suits it just as well." She smoothed her blanket again. "To a reasonable degree of course. We wanted him to have our country's best interest at heart. That would not be possible if he didn't care about it and it's inhabitants even a little bit."

Sherlock swallowed.

"You just didn't want him to care enough for those things to become targets for your enemies to use as leverage..."

She nodded slowly.

"Yes… that's correct."

They fell into silence, letting the information sink in.

Eunice didn't mind the quiet. It gave her time to collect her thoughts and push back the feeling of intense guilt that began growing in the pit of her stomach.

"I would appreciate if you stopped avoiding my question, Lady Smallwood."

Sherlock's voice, previously soft and devoid of emotion, now sounded forceful and filled with irritation.

"I'm... sorry?" She asked, tightening her grip on her blanket.

"You provided me with a lot of information, Lady Smallwood." The Detective said voice shaking with raw anger. "Information that helped me realize my brother was nothing but a pawn to all of you from the day he was born." He chuckled brokenly. "Hell, you admitted to this yourself. He was supposed to serve as 'Alekai's replacement once he was old enough'." He glared at her with tearstained eyes. "But it didn't end there, did it? He was also a tool to help my parents get over the fact that they seemingly couldn't have their own children. Later, when he turned out too smart to be used for something so mindless as field work, Rudy used him as a as a substitute for the 'son who will take over his position one day' that his eldest, Harry, never was." Sherlock then looked down. He saw his hands shaking but couldn't bring himself to make them stop. "Later, once Rudy's influence started showing in his actions and personally, he was used by my mother as the Scapegoat to protect me from being used in the same way." He took a deep breath. "Then… when Eurus has been taken… he was trusted with that terrible secret, used once more to be the Judas of the family once Rudy died, and single handedly carry all the blame for their shared actions." His hands turned into fists. "You helped me realize that, not only did Mycroft have no control over the direction his own life was going, but also that it was nothing but one. Big. Fat. _Lie_."

He looked, angry flames shining in his ice-blue eyes.

"The only thing I don't know yet… is why he is not allowed to find out about his real parents." He grit out through clenched teeth. "A piece of information I demand to know."

Eunice stared at him for a good few seconds, taking in his shaking form and the tears in his eyes.

She shook her head.

"Foolish boy..." The elder Smallwood whispered. "Do you know what would happen if he ever knew what you do now?" She asked gently. "The knowledge that nothing he knows is true… that the people he thought were his parents lied and used him… that his own government hid such an important truth about him for so long..." She shook his head. "It would completely destroy him. He wouldn't know what to believe anymore, or who to trust." Eunice sighed. "Such raw vulnerability could leave him in a state of emotional numbness, during which things and actions that once had considerable value to him, like keeping those he loves safe or doing things for the greater good of the Queen and country, would become meaningless and devoid of everything that made them once worth living by." She then made her voice stern. "That's not the kind of treachery England would survive happening."

Sherlock paled.

"Oh God..."

"What?" Eunice asked, suddenly alarmed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"The thing you're describing..." He looked up, eyes filled with fear. "They're happening right now..."

"What?!" Eunice asked, glaring at her daughter. "How?!"

"Because Mycroft was always meant to fall." Sherlock whispered.

"Whether he knew the truth or not."


	18. Chapter 18

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 18

"Hope that lights up the dark tunnel."

"Jesus." John breathed out after hearing what Sherlock had to say. "That's... Christ, Sherlock that's a lot to take in."

The Detective only shrugged, hands deep in his pockets and face mostly covered by his signature scarf.

He and Watson were on a walk in the park, mostly so that Rosie can run around among the fallen leaves.

The girl needs a bit of levity after everything that happened with Eurus.

So, while Sherlock told John everything that happened during his absence, the tiny girl bounced and giggled as little children like her tend to do.

"...what are you going to do now, Sherlock?" Watson asked after a moment of silence.

Sherlock didn't respond, more occupied with watching Rosamund being a carefree youngling.

"What would you have me do, John?" He asked after another minute of silence.

"I don't know… tell the truth?"

Holmes chuckled mirthlessly.

"Tell the _truth_? Don't be _daft_ , John." He then looked at the blogger, pity in his eyes. "It wouldn't _matter_. He rewrote his memories, as far as he's concerned we're no longer family. And, even if we were, it wouldn't make a difference. He just..." The Detective sighed. "No longer cares."

Watson bit his lip and looked down at the road peppered by colorful leaves worriedly.

Sure he and Mycroft didn't always see eye to eye, John still had a lot to say about the "kidnappings" and "Big Brother-like monitoring", but that didn't mean he didn't think of him as a friend.

The older man more than earned it, as even his major hiccups in judgement were clearly done out of the desire to protect, and Watson was sure he owes his life to him many times over.

It was rather… disconcerting to hear that, someone who seems to be able to deduce _everything_ about _everyone_ , was unaware he was being lied to about his own past.

"Life is never that simple, John." Came Sherlock's quiet voice, seemingly reading his mind yet again. "Mycroft can always tell when a person is lying, even when they're not quite aware of it themselves."

"Then why didn't he… do anything? If he knew something was fishy… shouldn't he have… pulled some strings and found out the truth?"

Sherlock shrugged, kicking a rock.

"Would _you_ do it, John? If you had this feeling under your skin that both your loved ones and trusted colleagues are _lying_ to you day and night. Would you try to get to the bottom of it?" He then paused, adjusting the scarf around his neck. "Or would you ignore the desire to know the truth, to keep your family from falling apart?"

Watson had no answer to that. He just looked away from his best friend and continued to watch his daughter be a happy little girl.

"Think about this situation from Mycroft's perspective, John." Holmes continued, as if he was afraid of the silence that fell between them. "His past was masterfully constructed by uncle Rudy. Everything he knows, _everything_ he believes in… his moral compass, his deduction powers, his loyalty towards his family and his country… _all_ of this is a cleverly constructed _lie_ to make Mycroft into the perfect tool to serve all parties involved to the best of his ability. And those lies..." Sherlock's hand was shaking, but he was too focused on talking to notice. "Those malicious _lies_ are his core foundation, the very things that made him _him_. If… if he acknowledged that his entire being is nothing but a fabrication, his mind palace would _collapse_."

A shiver went down Watson's spine, trying to imagine a Holmes struggling to deal with a serious identity crisis that turns everything he knows upside down, and throws distrust at people and information that he would blindly believe not too long ago.

Even he could tell this would be devastating to someone so devoted to the people that he viewed as his family, and towards the country he swore his life to protect.

"He would end up _Catatonic_ , unable to properly comprehend the scale of the manipulation he was exposed to." Sherlock, looked at the leaf that landed on his shoulder. "And then, once his mind deals with the crisis… he would leave. Disappear." His voice barely a whisper. "On a journey to find the person he was supposed to be."

The leaf flies away with the incoming wind.

"Only to realize that… there is nothing to find." Sherlock follows the lone leaf as if dances in the air. "A wolf who was treated like a cat all his life won't change his ways once he's accepted back into a pack, and neither will a servant change into a Lord once he's told he's part of a royal family." The leaf suddenly drops to the ground, the wind disappearing. "They'll just keep being what they were _forced_ to be."

And then the small leaf gets cramped under Rosie's eager feet.

" _Once_ a slave… _always_ a slave."

* * *

The Detective Duo walked through the park following after Rosie, neither of the two talking.

John couldn't find the right words to comfort his best friend, who's facing a truly crazy and difficult family situation.

Sherlock simply had nothing more to say. He's been having a lot of moments like these nowadays...

Moments where even _he_ is left speechless.

...

 _God_ it hasn't even been a full month yet, _how_ has his life changed so much in such a short amount of time?

' _No_.' Sherlock shook his head. _'Not **how**. **Why**_.'

Why did this happen?

Why didn't anyone stop it?

Why?

Why, why, _why_?

That's _all_ he wanted to know.

Why?

What hurt most was the fact that, the one person who could have answered that in full… was already dead.

They neared a playground filled with laughing children, the notice they made quickly disposing of the uncomfortable quiet that settled between them.

Rosie squealed in delight and ran over to join the other younglings in their games.

John watched her quickly make friends with the other girls, before he guided the numb Sherlock to the nearest empty bench.

Once they sat down he allowed himself to lean back and calmly keep vigil over his little girl.

When Rosamund laughed and pulled a hesitant Red-haired little boy into the game as well, the good doctor was reminded of Mycroft Holmes.

The man with an considerable amount of power and influence… who's life was devoid of such carefree moments during a time when it should be full of them.

He tried to imagine what a small Mycroft would do if he was suddenly placed in a playground like this by his mother, after spending the previous days studying under Rudy.

A small child version of the elder Holmes brother appeared in the middle of the play-place, looking lost and confused. Simply unable to understand what he's even supposed to _do_ in such a situation.

John's heart clenched, feeling like the poor child has been ridden of his childhood by greedy adults that used him to solve their own problems.

The boy walked around the other kids which, naturally, couldn't see him, John following the movements of the figment of his imagination.

Imaginary Mycroft watched Rosie and some Red-haired boy jump around in the sandbox, and his tiny nose wrinkled in disgust, making the doctor chuckle under his breath.

The unreal boy then moved over to the children on the small merry-go-round, squealing in delight. He tilts his small head, probably wondering why making yourself feel sick makes them so happy.

Blinking in confusion he finally moved over to the swing.

It was the only thing that was empty, as the children playing were not tall enough to get onto it.

John somehow knew this would attract the younger version of Mycroft the most, as it was the most logical toy in the playground.

It was made to create the illusion of flight, something which every kid wishes they could do at some point in their life.

The imagine disappears the moment another child ran through him, leaving the playground one child less.

John blinked, eyes suddenly feeling dry.

Suddenly, a shriek hit his ears from the sandbox.

Immediately both him and Sherlock turned their heads to check what happened.

It was Rosie. Furiously rubbing her eyes where presumably she's been struck with sand by the black haired boy.

The doctor frowned and moved to get up, because such behavior will not be tolerated, especially towards his little princess.

But, before he could do anything, Rosamund started crying and began running in the opposite direction to where he and Sherlock were sitting. The other kids running after her.

"Rosie!" He heard himself call out, hurriedly standing up.

"Couldn't she see us?" Holmes asked, as he started trotting after the small girl and the children pursuing her.

"I don't know! But we need to catch up to her before she-" at that moment he and Sherlock finally managed to squeeze through the high bushes and end up near the park path, where they saw who Rosie ran towards.

"Is that-" Holmes breathed quietly next to him.

"Mycroft?" John finished, gaping himself.

There, in all his suited glory, was the elder Holmes brother.

Surrounded by delegates from other countries, he was explaining some sort of plan to them in Mandarin, while also showing off his beautiful country and allowing the newcomers a chance to stretch their legs after hours spent sitting in an office.

Before they could call out to him, Rosie bolted right for him. Quickly dodging the other delegates and hiding behind him.

John watched as the Iceman blinked and stopped in his tracks, a question on his lips, before he looked up and saw the other children.

Said boys stopped a meter away from him, eyes wide and small bodies trembling.

The sight of someone so big and surrounded with other adults, scared them shirtless.

Mycroft, accurately deducing what was going on, straightened up to his full height, and turned his glare towards the trembling brats.

"Scram." He said in a low voice, eyes narrowed dangerously. "The lot of you."

The boys screamed and began running back to their parents.

John blinked.

Then blinked again.

Mycroft then sighed and turned to Rosie, who was cheerfully sticking her tongue out at the retreating kids.

"There. They're gone now." He said. Voice still low and emotionless. "You can go back to the playground. I doubt they'll bother you again."

But Rosamund just smiled and shook her pretty little head.

"No." She grinned and lifted her hands up. "With uncah Myc! Want to be with uncah Myc!"

Sherlock and John watched, in small amazement, as Mycroft blinks and, after a moment, his eyes soften and he _smiles_.

He sighs softly and kneels in front of the small girl.

"You know I can't say no to you, Rosie-dear."

The small girl then squealed in delight as he picked her up and placed her on his shoulders, before going back to talking with the delegates as if nothing happened. Voice and face reverting back to their Iceman stage.

"Sherlock..." John breathed out. "Did you see tha-"

"He was back." The Detective said. "For a little while he was himself again." He then looked at John, eyes sparkling with happiness.

"There's still hope."

* * *

He kneels before the small girl.

She smiles up at him, eyes bright and filled with love and adoration.

He feels strange.

He feels good.

He feels… warm.

 _ **Stop**_.

He talks to this small human, fascinated with the effect her presence seems to have have on him.

He doesn't remember the last time he felt this way.

 _ **What are you doing?**_

He tells her he cannot deny her anything, and is surprised when he actually means it.

He wants to make her happy.

He wants to keep her safe.

He wants… he wants...

 ** _Stop this. You're slipping._**

He reaches out to her. Her tiny body warm against his cold skin.

She's… so warm.

He picks her up, placing her upon his shoulders before he stands up again.

 ** _Oh Mycroft..._**

He tries to ignore the girl's father standing near the road.

He tries to ignore Sherlock Holmes right next to him...

He tries to ignore the tiny piece of him that wishes he could have a heart.

 ** _Why do you keep doing this to yourself?_**


	19. Chapter 19

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 19

"Jester king."

Mycroft had a soft spot for children ever since he was entrusted with the care of Sherlock and Eurus.

He enjoyed being around them, playing with and taking care of them. Oftentimes the royal family required his 'special touch' to calm down the prince and princesses because they don't seem to be able to.

They were an inspiration for him, a soft beacon of light in his dark dark life, a reason to continue doing his best to serve his country faithfully so that they might have a better future.

 _Hell_ , he just gave Rosie a piggy-back ride not too long ago and she _loved_ every minute of it.

Mycroft _always_ liked children.

And Sherlock couldn't _believe_ he forgot about that.

"Are you saying," John mumbled, as he helped his daughter get out of the sweaty jacket. "that, in order to bring your brother back from the state that he's in we need to... surround him with _children_?"

"It's the only thing that hasn't been erased from his mind!" The Detective called from the upper floor. "For all we know the only thing he has disposed of was the emotional connection to me and the rest of our family!" Shuffling could be heard in the room. "But… his fondness towards children, something that _wasn't_ seen as an actual weakness, since he doesn't have kids of his own, was left _untouched_!"

Sherlock then appeared in the door, eyes ablaze and filled with hope.

"It's the _only_ chance we have, John." He huffed, leaning on the railing. "And I'm going to make it count."

* * *

"Okay but, by the looks of it, we'll need more than just _one_ kid, Sherlock." The doctor stated serving Rosie, who was drawing a picture, her supper. "Where exactly do you suppose we _get_ that many children?"

"Rosamund has friends, doesn't she?" Sherlock responded, walking from one wall to another. "We could… throw a party for her, invite all the kids from the kindergarten, have Mycroft watch over them."

"Okay, that sounds simple enough." The good doctor agreed. "How are we going to get him to monitor the kids, though? It's not like we can just _walk_ up to him and ask if he could watch over a bunch of noisy children for a couple of hours. That might have worked a few weeks ago when he still considered himself your brother, but definitely not _now_."

Sherlock sighed and rested his hands on the armchair.

"I… I don't know John." He admitted weakly. "I don't know how we're going to make this plan work." His fingers dug into the leather. "But we _have_ to at least _try_."

"Hey… it's alright, Sherlock." John placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll make it. We always do."

* * *

You look out the window as you drive.

See the dozens of nameless faces, leading dozens of different lives, keeping hundreds upon hundreds of secrets…

Secrets you can see by just looking at them…

These people can't hide anything from you…

Because you see _everything_.

But that's okay, you're not out to use this ability to hurt them.

Those are lives you are obligated to protect, to keep safe.

 **Why?**

You blink at the sudden question forcing its way to the forefront of your mind, and look away from the window.

' _That is my purpose.'_ You find yourself answering for reasons unknown to you. ' _I've been trained to do so. It is my job_.'

 **Why?**

You blink again, confused.

' _Didn't I just answer that?'_ You think, fingers absentmindedly tapping on the car seat. ' _I do it because_ that's _what I'm_ meant _to_ do _.'_

 **Why?**

' _Why…'_ you pull out a cigarette and a lighter from a secret compartment in the car, and lower the windowsill. ' _Why does there_ have _to_ be _a why?_ '

 **Answer me, Mycroft.**

' _Why?_ '

 **You** _ **know**_ **why.**

' _It doesn't change anything._ '

 **It changes** _ **everything**_ **.**

' _You're exaggerating._ '

 **Am** _ **I**_ **exaggerating, or are** _ **you**_ **hiding from the truth?**

' _Does it matter?_ '

 **It should.**

' _Why?_ '

 **You're deflecting.**

' _I see no point in this conversation._ '

 **I never took you for a coward.**

' _Cowardly, no. Uninterested, yes._ '

 **Uninterested… or** _ **afraid**_ **?**

' _Knowledge can't hurt me._ '

 **Then** _ **why**_ **are you** _ **hiding**_ **?**

' _I grow wary of this conversation._ '

 **And yet you're still talking to me, my little Jester King.**

' _...Why did you call me that._ '

 **How else would you call a King who thought he ruled over everything… but was a jester in a little plastic crown all along?**

' _..._ '

 **Your life is a** _ **lie**_ **, Mycroft. It's time to decide whether or not you want to continue living it, serving those who took away your true identity like the Tool that you were made to be…**

 **Or leave.**

You blink, emotionless. Feeling emptier than you've felt in a long long time.

' _So that's it… a pawn disguised as a king._ '' You think taking in a long breath of smoke. ' _Heh… well played… Uncle Rudi.'_

Truly… he was the greatest chess player in all of England.

He won the game even before you were old enough to understand the rules.

Played you like… like Sherlock Holmes did the violin. Using, molding you, a mere child, into the perfect tool… the perfect _pawn_ , in his game of chess against fate.

And to think… you wanted to be just like him once.

Heh…

Jester King.

The unobservant Fool of a genius who can see the secret of others, but not his own when he looks into the mirror.

What a fitting title.

It suits me, you think pulling out a brandy bottle out of the hidden compartment.

For a brief moment, as you pour the alcohol, you wish you could be more than that.

A Blind Fool.

A perfect Pawn.

A multifunctional tool.

A Jester King…

But then you realize… there is _nothing_ else out there for you.

Old Dogs can't be taught new tricks…

And you're an old _old_ dog with your master living in your head. _Always_ there, always _listening_...

What would you even do?

Where would you go?

Who would even _care_?

Then in a flash you remember…

A small smiling face, bright eyes shining in happiness and warmth, hands outstretched to him, begging to be picked up…

' _The girl…_ ' You think, trying to hold on to the memory, the feeling of warmth of acceptance, of happiness… ' _What… was her name?_ '

You can't recall.

 **Tick tock, Jester King.**

 **What are you going to do?**

' _...I don't know.'_ You answer truthfully _._

' _I just...don't know.'_


	20. Chapter 20

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 20

"Playing the Hero."

It was then, as they sat pondering over the new information, when it hit him.

A thought so horrible and terrifying that it nearly threw the detective to his knees.

"Sherlock?" John's voice asked from beyond the fog that suddenly clouded his vision.

"John…" He manages to grunt out, entire body shaking.

"Sherlock what's happening? What's wrong?" He can feel warm hands on his shoulders steadying him.

"John… what if Mycroft doesn't _want_ to be saved?"

A pregnant silence spread between them, suffocating and thick like a tsunami wave, and no less devastating.

It was funny really… how _one_ question could change _everything_.

 _ **What if he doesn't**_ **want** _ **to be saved?**_

This question hung over their heads like a sword of Damocles, threatening to strike at any moment.

"Sherlock that's…" the doctor swallowed thickly. "That's _ridiculous_ , why _wouldn't_ he want to be brought back to normal?"

"Because his 'normal' _hurts_."

Sherlock said, eyes distant and voice small and fragile. "Mycroft was _smothered_ by hate…" he blinks. "His work gradually ebbed away at his soul… his sense of responsibility constantly cost him more and more; first his childhood: his passion for art, his gentle spirit… all taken, then the unconditional love of my parents, and lastly my… my admiration. The list is never ending. We _all_ did it. We all took and took, until there was _nothing_ left for him to _give_ and yet… and yet..."

"He continued to give more, never backing away." John finished the sentence for his best friend. "Because that's what Mycroft does." The doctor whispered. "He _provides ..._ until he is no longer able to."

"He gave and gave and gave…" Sherlock continued as if this was some sick mantra.

"Is this _really_ so surprising that he gave _himself_ up in the end?"

In silence they contemplated what told Sherlock's parents when they met.

' _There is nothing left_ _ **to**_ _save_.'

It hurt to admit she might be right.

* * *

 _'It was ironic in a way,_ ' Siger Holmes thought quietly to himself as he sat in his armchair, ' _that we had recovered one child lost to lies and deceit… only to lose both_ _ **her**_ _and her_ _ **brother**_ _to the_ _ **truth**_ _.'_

He gazed at the sun setting beyond the window, hand absentmindedly reaching for a glass of wine on the table.

The events occurring these past few days were twisted and convoluted like a rose bush vine clawing at his throat.

But one thing remained crystal clear...

 _'Mycroft was a good boy_.'

Regardless of what he did, at heart, his intentions were pure and selfless. Constantly doing what he believed was best for all parties involved.

All parties… but _himself_ it seemed.

Siger sighed and pulled out a bottle of Scotch from the hidden compartment within the armchair.

It was a good year, probably a birthday present from people he no longer remembered, at a time where things were much simpler and much less painful.

' _It was so like him_ ,' the old man mused, _'to put the happiness of others above his own_.'

Siger frowned as he poured the liquor into a clear glass.

 _'Hmmm… but was it_ _ **really**_ _?_ ' He pondered watching the Amber liquid slid across the smooth crystal glass. _'Was it Mycroft's conscious choice?_ ' Holmes breathed in the scent of the liquor and felt the addicted cells in him sing. ' _Or was this part of Rudy's perfect little_ _ **tool**_?'

The conversation with Ms. Anders got him thinking.

About life... about family…

About his children.

Mycroft especially, as he seems to be in the epicenter of the Holmes apocalypse.

The general cause, really.

Though not by his own fault, no…

That honor belongs to Rudolph Holmes, the man behind the might chessboard of his life.

Oh how that man _toyed_ with them all... moving them all like pawns on the board so that his perceived "greater good" could be achieved.

" _Greater good."_ Siger snorted shaking his silver head. "A heck of a lot of good _that_ got us in the end, didn't it, Rudy?" He asked the empty air, as his wife was crying in their eldest son's room for over an hour now.

It had no answer for him, he snorted again, if only to fill the empty air with something.

As _if_ the man would answer, even _if_ the mastermind _had_ been here.

Rudy was never good with confrontations.

Yet another trait he passed on to poor Mycroft.

"Mycroft…" Siger muttered, voice broken as his son's happy face flashing before his eyes.

"Our little hero in a villain's cape…"

With those words a memory suddenly resurfaced, forcing its way up to the forefront of the old man's mind.

Of a very special day a long _long_ time ago…

* * *

It was midnight, Siger was drinking himself rotten in the kitchen.

He was much younger then, his tolerance at its peak.

It took a lot for him to feel any sort of effect.

He supposed he should be proud of possessing such a strong head.

Yet there is no pride to be found in a man who drank until he couldn't remember what drove him to the bottle in the first place.

A bad day it had been, with the pay getting cut and baby Sherlock filling the entire house with ear-piercing screams for hours on end.

He swayed on his feet as he made his way to the fridge again. The room was completely dark but Siger has done this so many times his body was practically on autopilot.

But, as he reached his shaky hand to the door handle…

The front door opened.

Siger paused, still swaying back and forth, and frowned.

 _'What's this?_ ' he mused, eyes lazily moving to the door. _'There's… no one left to come… home... is this… a burglar?_ '

No, that is not it, he decided.

A burglar would have no key, and the door was opened without incident.

A friend then.

Or distant family member that had a late plane.

Josephine liked to visit them like this occasionally ever since Sherlock was born.

The boy is quite the favourite.

Deciding it is not, in fact, a threat to his family, Siger returned to his previous engagement of finding another bottle to empty.

But then the supposed "Josephine", actually showed up in the kitchen, turning the lights on and subsequently blinding poor Siger.

"Ack." A hand flew to his face to shield his burning eyes. "T-Turn it off, won't you?"

That's what he wished to say, thought in all honesty it came out like an unintelligible gargle worthy of his infant son.

"I've brought your son back, Siger." The shadow outline with a voice, deep and commanding, spoke from the door frame.

Siger sluggishly recognized his sister's brother, Rudy, in it.

"Son?" Violet's husband frowned, head tilting in confusion. What _son_? Sherlock was upstairs with Vee.

Rudy didn't answer, just walked up to him and pushed a small shaking figure into his arms with such force, he nearly fell to his bum.

"I'll be back for him in a week's time." The shadow growled walking away before Siger could ask who in the world he is holding. "I'm placing him in your capable hands, Siger."

And then he was gone.

And Holmes could feel the tiny form taking shallow breaths in his arms.

 _'Who in the world-'_

"D-Daddy?" The form squeaked, and Siger _remembered_.

That's his _eldest_.

Mycroft.

And he was… shaking, Siger could feel the sweat on the shirt the boy was clad in, and quietly cursed.

He was bloody _terrified_ , is what he was.

 _'What have you_ _ **done**_ _to him, Rudy?_ '

"Y-Yes, my boy." Siger slurred and hated himself for it. His child needed _reassurance_ , not a drunk father to guide to bed! "It's… daddy. Don't be frightened... everything is... alright now, Papa's here."

He forced himself to be coherent, even though it made his head pound, and hoped those words will do the trick.

It always worked back when _he_ was but a wee lad.

He prayed they did not lose their magic.

When Mycroft's breath calmed down a little, Siger hugged him close to his chest, cursing himself for _forgetting_ his _entire existence_.

 _'What kind of father-'_

"I-It won't come off, Papa." The right year old sobbed into his chest. "I-I-It won't… come… _off_."

"W-What w-won't?" The elder Holmes felt foolish for feeling so utterly _frightened_ by whatever answer was about to come.

 _'It's an eighth-year-old boy, Holmes_.' He scolded himself. _'What could he possibly get dirty from?'_ "Don't… worry, child. Your mommy… will surely… wash it off."

"N-No." Mycroft shook his head violently. "I-It won't c-come off. It won't!"

"What won't?!" Siger never meant to yell. But he was beginning to get just as scared as his charge. "Tell me what won't come off, Mycroft!"

The boy flinched in his arms, a momentary pause from his relentless shaking.

"T-T-The bad man's b-b-blood." He whispered after a long long pause, his usually so eloquent a tongue reduced to that of a normal child. A true sign of the enormous trauma he faced today. "I-I-It j-just w-won't c-come o-off m-my f-face."

 _ **Blood**_

That one word…

Was enough to throw Siger's mind into a frenzy, immediately making him sober.

 _ **Blood**_

Mycroft had someone's _blood_ on him.

 _'Dear_ _ **God**_ _.'_ He shook his head, wishing this to be nothing more than an alcohol-induced _nightmare_.

"I-I s-scrubbed a-and s-scrubbed." Mycroft explained brokenly. "A-And u-uncle s-said i-it w-will p-pass. T-That i-I w-won't s-see it... anymore... soon."

Rudy…

That name brought nothing but white-hot rage now.

Rudy most have done something _horrible_ … in front of his son tonight.

 _'Rudy… Rudy what have you_ _ **done**_ _?!_ '

"What did he do, Mycroft?" Siger asked, voice steady as a rock. "What did you see?"

"H-He s-shot h-him, daddy." The child shook evermore in his arms. "R-Right i-in T-The h-h-h-head. B-Because h-he w-was a f-fool a t-t-traitor."

"..." Siger had nothing to say. He just tightened his hug on Mycroft and wished Violet came downstairs for a glass of water.

The boy needed her. Needed _them_.

"Why did it happen, Mycroft?" The older Holmes aksed, needing to know why his son was exposed to such a sight. "Why not a prison or... exile or... _anything_?"

"B-B-Because that way… h-he m-might d-do i-it again." The boy's wasn't sobbing anymore. "U-Uncle h-had to… p-prevent i-it."

"But why take his life?" Siger _had_ to know. Why the radical thinking?

Why the violence?

Why did _Mycroft have to watch_?

"B-Because that's… what h-heroes d-do." The boy said, voice muffled by Siger's shirt.

"W-We b-behead T-The d-dragon."

* * *

"Oh Mycroft…" The old man shook his head, hand wiping away tears.

"Why did you have to play the hero?"


End file.
